Sugar Nesmith - Collection of Ficlets
by ChaosKirin
Summary: Smittygirl accidentally ended up turning Mike into a girl for a while, then suddenly, they became to separate entities. She's graciously let me get inside Sugar's head. Check out the original here: /u/61613/SmittyGirl (Also, they're in the order they should be in. YAY!)
1. I Hate You

"Guys, cool it, okay? It's not a big deal." Micky, standing next to them both as they faced each other in one of the most intense staring matches he'd ever seen, held a hand out toward each of them. Despite their differences, it was absolutely uncanny how much the two Michaels resembled each other in that moment, an expression of pure rage on their faces. That anger reflected in their posture, as well - both were slightly hunched, their shoulders tense, hands balled into fists.

"It's only been one day, and you two are— "

"SHUT UP, MICKY!" they both said at the same time. The unfortunate coincidence that they'd both said the same thing simultaneously only served to fuel their sudden disdain for one another. Afraid for his safety, Micky held his palms up to them, backing away. One Texan with an explosive temper was bad enough, but two? Anyone who got in the middle of that altercation was an idiot.

She was the first one to speak. "You listen t'me, Buster. I'm the original. I've been living in this house, looking like THIS…" She spat the word as she gestured to herself, "For the past month. You — "

"I'm what we're S'POSED to be," he said. "Ah'm correct. Ah'm right. This is right." He pointed at his chest, then at her. "You're— "

"Don't you DARE."

"Wrong."

She took a swing with the same fist that had broken Irving Class' nose, but he was ready for it, catching her wrist just before she managed to land a blow to his face. Squeaking out a pure, almost animal-like syllable of rage, she managed to wiggle free, grab his shoulders, and give him a shove. Given that she had all the power that he possessed, he lost his balance and fell. Now, she towered over him, and for a moment, he continued to wear that look of anger all over his features.

Until he looked up and got a gander at the indescribable expression she wore. It almost seemed like she lacked the ability to express how she'd passed from mere simmering anger and into a state of unpredictable fury. Before he could react, she scored a direct kick to his shin; he howled in pain, while at the same time thanking god that she hadn't been wearing any shoes.

Almost reflexively, he kicked out with his un-bruised leg and managed to trip her right to the floor. She landed with a thud and a disturbingly masculine grunt that reminded him too much of himself.

Himself.

She propped herself up on her elbows, hair a complete mess, and glared at him from behind a cage of her own bangs. "I hate you," she choked.

But she wasn't talking to him.

She was looking into his eyes and talking to herself.

"…Michael…" he said.

She shook her head and got back to her feet. Micky took a step toward her, but she held out her hand to stop him, retreating to the bay window where she sat on the step and put her head in her hands.


	2. Convergence of the Twain

At first, Mike had no idea how badly he'd crushed her.

But when she stopped eating with them at dinner, stopped meeting their eyes, and worst of all, stopped arguing with him, he knew he'd beaten her, despite that never really being his intention.

God, she'd been so annoying though! This is mine! My name is Michael! Stop acting like you're more important!

He'd been so caught up in his relief at being himself and getting back to his own life that he'd failed to put himself in her shoes. If their positions were reversed, wouldn't he be doing the same thing she was? Sure, he'd try to assert himself, to prove to everyone else that he was still the same person he always was where it counted - in his heart - despite looking completely different on the outside. But instead of encouraging her, he'd been fighting her at every corner, trying to convince her to…

To be someone else.

She'd pulled away. And every day, she seemed to get a little farther, disappearing onto the deck for hours, or sleeping long past noon. The only one who seemed to be able to talk to her anymore was Peter, and she barely had a word to spare for him.

Late one evening, with a storm blowing in from the ocean, he walked down toward the beach, flashlight in one hand and a book nestled under his arm. She sat there just off the sand on a patch of ragged grass, looking at the water, watching the lightning miles and miles offshore.

"Hey, Mike," he said. "You think it's about time we buried this hatchet?"

She looked up at him, eyes dull. He hoped the life would return to them. But if he knew himself, he certainly knew her, and he had high hopes that she'd pull herself out of this.

Looking back toward the water, she said, "Yeah, I think that'd be nice."

Sitting down next to her, he handed her the book, opening to the page he'd dog-eared earlier. "I found this."

She took it, and the flashlight. It took her a few minutes to read the entire thing before she said, "Mike, this is a poem about the Titanic."

"The title, though, y'goof. Look at the title."

"Convergence of th'— Oh."

He thought he may have seen a slight trace of a smile before she said, "Honestly, sometimes you're such a girl."

"I guess…" He hesitated, afraid the response would upset her. Eventually, he went for it anyway. "I guess you'd know."

She nodded, sighing with resignation. "Yeah, I would."

A rumble of thunder, still barely audible, reached the shore as the wind started to pick up a little. It was getting cold, and he was tempted to act like a decent human being - as well as her brother - and put his arm around her to keep her warm. But his recent soul-searching made him wonder if she'd just resent him more for that. He wouldn't, after all, want to be seen as anything less than a self-sufficient, proud young man… Except she just happened to have become a self-sufficient, proud young woman.

He finally asked, "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

"Failing."

"Yeah, I do that sometimes, too."

She shivered, then leaned toward him. Before she could make contact of any kind, though, she met his eyes, slid a couple inches away, and then wrapped her arms around herself just a little tighter.

He sighed, slumping. If he was going to affect any change between them, it seemed as if he was going to have to be the one to swallow his pride first. Clearing his throat, he said, very deliberately. "Gee, it sure is chilly out here. I wish I had some sort of friend or sibling or doppelganger or whatever to help me stay warm."

"Subtle."

"Yeah, I thought so."

Still, she scooted closer and leaned against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. "So," he said. "About buryin' that hatchet. Ah… I haven't been very fair, and I think we should get to talkin' about that. You know, about… sharin' our life."

"Nice of you t'say," she replied. "But, you know, this whole thing's really got me thinkin'. Let's say I wanted to go swimmin'. I couldn't just put on one of the bathin' suits I got. I'd have to… I'd have to go get one meant for a woman. And when I realized that, as dumb as that sounds, I realized I gotta stop tryin' to fit into your space and … start tryin' to make my own space."

She looked up at him, finding him staring blankly back at her, and asked, "…You're picturin' yerself wearin' a girl's bathin' suit, aren't you?"

"Well, you did kind of go there."

When she smiled, he almost felt as if his heart would burst from relief. He knew that look! It meant she was going to be okay!

"See," she said, "Even you look at me an' see yourself."

Sitting back, he turned so he was facing her, raising the flashlight up so he could see her face. Her eyes were still a little dull, but he imagined his looked the same. Exactly the same. It was the one thing between them that they shared, the proverbial window to their soul. "You want the big brother talk?" he asked.

"We're the same age," she pointed out.

"Well, in that case," he began, "D'you mind terribly if I think of you as my baby sister? 'cuz it'll help me to stop bein' such a horse's ass to you."

He knew her immediate reaction would be to reject this outright. But now that they'd nearly killed each other and then spent the past few days moping around and avoiding everything, maybe…

"Yeah. Yeah, I think that'd be okay."

"Good. So?"

She rolled her eyes. "All right then, big brother. Let's hear it."

He ran his fingers through wind-battered hair, looking from her, to the approaching storm, and back. "Well, first, the whole clothes thing. I think… I think you oughta wear what you want, so my stuff's yours. But I also think you're a pretty young lady'n maybe one day we can… Go shoppin' and…"

He trailed off, unsure how to finish. She wasn't sure what to say, either, at first, biting her lip and looking at the ground. Eventually, she replied, "When I'm ready to start bein' a girl, I think I'd like that."

"Okay. Okay, good."

"Mike, you really think I'm pretty?"

"Well yeah, of course y'are. You get all dressed up, and you look real nice. I mean, before we split - I swear if you say this to the guys, you'll regret it - I… thought I looked nice in a dress."

He could see a bit of humor return to her eyes, but he knew she couldn't comment, since she had the memory in her head, too.

"Next, I think if you're serious about makin' your own space for yourself in the world, you might think about comin' up with a name that ain't Michael."

He thought this would draw an argument, but surprisingly, her response was pretty agreeable. "I've got a couple ideas. And before y'say anything, it's none of the ones we considered before we split. If I'm gonna come up with a name, I'm gonna come up with it on my own."

He nodded. Back when he was afraid he'd be stuck as a girl forever, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking of new names for himself. Michelle seemed to come up the most since it was closest to 'Michael.' Mikayla, too. Also Bob, for some strange reason."

"Not Bob, then?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I'll letcha know."

"Third… You don't really hate yourself, do you?"

Uncomfortable, she looked away.

Having nothing else to really call her at this point, he said, "Come on, Michael, you don't, do you?"

"I do."

"Why? Why in god's name would you— "

"'cuz it's easier'n hating you for havin' the good fortune to be male, and it's easier'n hating Micky for getting us into this mess in the first place. I mean, look at me, Mike. You want me to be perfec'ly honest for a minute? Just look at me."

"I am, but I don't…"

"Ah'm gonna have to deal with this for the rest of my life. When I look down, I'm gonna see this… alien body, and I'm …" Her expression was heart-breakingly sad for just a moment, before her jaw tensed and she turned her emotion to anger. "I'm gonna look in the mirror and see just enough of your face to remind me of who I can't be. Then I have to decide what the hell love is anymore - I don't know what to do about the fact that Peter's decided he's in love with me, and if I should try to just… See where it goes or stay completely alone for the rest of my life. And I mean, I could go out and find someone else, but it ain't right to do that to a person, Mike, springin' that on them. Don't matter if it's a girl or a boy I fancy, neither. 'cuz in the end, I'd feel like I was lyin' to them, not tellin' 'em right off that I used to be a man."

The rain started to fall, slowly at first, but picking up quickly until it became a downpour. Neither of them moved to leave, though, the conversation still heavy on their shoulders. Mike couldn't think of how to wrap his head around any of it, because he'd forced himself not to think too deeply about what would happen if he was trapped forever in the wrong body. Of course, he knew that as soon as his double accepted that fact, her mind would have immediately gone into overdrive, trying to make sense out of a completely altered life. No wonder she'd tried to hit him with all this running through her brain.

But all he could think of to say was, "Well, if it makes y'feel any better, you aren't the only one sittin' in the rain that Peter kissed."

"It does, a little."

Having a shared memory was going to be weird.

The dimming light from the flashlight illuminated her face as she stared absently into it, revealing just how tired she looked. "The worst part is, you and Micky and Davy are so ready for things to be back to normal, that you're pushin' me out. I don't fit anymore. I'm the one who's sidelined from the band. I'm the one who's gotta change his name. her name? Oh, I don't even know anymore. See? I'm still you up in my mind. So I … feel like you guys are all just gonna forget me after awhile. I know it ain't true, but— "

Suddenly, without a second thought, he said, "I love you, Mike." Surprised by this, he amended, "If you don't love yourself, well then, someone ought to."

She stared at him, one corner of her lip threatening to twitch upward in a smile. The life had returned to her eyes. "I say again. You are such a girl."

He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. Well. So are you.


	3. Half a Mind

Micky found her sitting on the upstairs landing, hands wrapped around the guard rail's vertical spokes, staring at her fingers. Truthfully, he wouldn't say he found her sitting there, since she wasn't exactly trying to hide, but she'd been distant enough that her separation from the others felt deliberate.

Standing behind her and just off to the side, he inquired, "So, Mike, are you in the mood to tell me what's on your mind, or did you just want to sit here and brood for awhile? Because I'm okay with either."

She was quiet for a minute, then said, "Well, you might as well start callin' me Sugar. 'cuz it looks like that's who I am now."

It kind of hurt to hear the defeat in her voice, given his hand in the whole thing. Maybe he should have just walked away, but Micky felt like she'd been secluding herself enough, and it was about time to put things right again. Sitting down, he offered her a smile, but Michael Nesmith's newly-created twin didn't seem inclined to smile back. "Okay. Shug," the drummer finally said.

"…was also thinkin' about how I have to actually get used to these hands." She released the rails, turned her hands around, and looked at the palms. "And my voice, and that's just the beginnin'." For a long while, she was quiet, and Micky didn't interrupt that silence between them. Finally, she said, almost too quietly to hear, "Ah mean, look at me— him—" Catching herself, she bit her lip, before making a subtle gesture toward Michael. Her near-identical twin sat as far away as possible, near the bay window, idly and tunelessly plucking at his guitar. "We're thinkin' the exact same thing, an' that's that we need a few hours apart just t'think. And all I can think is… Micky, I can't be him."

Again, she paused, turning her attention to Peter, who was sitting not too far away from Mike, on the couch. After attempting to say something several times, Sugar gave up, and pressed her forehead against the railing. Scooting closer until they were touching shoulders, Micky encouraged her to lean on him. Sure, he knew it was still Michael - in a way - but it seemed like the right thing to do for an ailing young woman. After some hesitation, she sighed and allowed him to be her support.

Micky reached into his pocket and pulled out a button, gave it a once-over, and then dropped it into the girl's lap. "You need this more than I do, I think."

When she picked it up, she finally allowed a smile, reading it out loud. "'Love is the ultimate trip.' Well, boy, this is far more than a trip."

"I think," Micky said, "And this is me just bein' all philosophical for a second—"

"You? Think? Say it ain't so."

Dryly, Micky muttered, "Oh, good. You still think you're funny."

"Damn right ah do."

At least she was smiling again. It was the first time he's seen that expression on Shug's face since the realization that this change was, for her, permanent. "You know, I always kinda admired you for your ability to adapt. You gonna be okay?"

She shrugged, which was as much as could be expected, under the circumstances.

"I think that love's a lot more of a grey area than people want to believe," Micky went on. "I mean, you're supposed to like chicks, right?" Pridefully, Sugar looked away as her face flushed, and rather than draw attention to it, Micky pressed on. "Well, anyone ever tell you that maybe…"

"Ah still do like women," Sugar said. "But I know where you're goin' with this and— "

"Hey, it was just a suggestion!" Micky held up his hands, conceding.

"Lemme finish, Mick! Jeez. I was gonna say, I know where you're goin' with this, and I think you might be right."

"Yeah?"

"But it's not gonna happen overnight. Still kinda makes my skin crawl, thinkin' about it. S'much as I hate to admit it, though, Peter's an old-fashioned gentleman." She smiled again, which managed to make Micky feel distinct emotions of surprise and a little discomfort at the same time. Unfortunately, the smile vanished almost immediately.

She sat up again, hands around the banister rails once more. "But it's Peter, though. I mean, would you consider going out with me? Knowing who— what— I was before?"

Micky felt backed into a corner with the question. Sugar realized it immediately, and said, "You don't have to answer that, Mick."

"It's just… I'm a chicken. And not of the Texas prairie variety."

Shug chuckled.

"But, uh. Me?" the curly-headed boy continued, "I'm … not Peter. I dunno if he tries at it or if it just comes naturally, but he's about as open-minded as they come. He loves all of us, Shug. And you just happen to have become the girl version of his best friend. So what's that translate to?"

"A big mess," the guitarist replied. "A big, giant mess. I gotta get over my own hang-ups, I guess. I mean, I don't have to, but I want to. Can I admit somethin'?" When her roommate nodded, she continued. "Maybe it's just me tryin' to make this work, but he's not… I mean, I could… Potentially…"

"If your face keeps going pink like that, I'm going to have to make fun of you," Micky joked. She elbowed him in the ribs.

"Thanks for the warnin'." Sugar rubbed the back of her neck and said, "I just need some time."

Micky understood, although he only indicated his agreement by wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders and giving her a little squeeze. For awhile, they just looked down at the others. Mike's random guitar solo started to sound a little more like music, and Peter leaned over on the couch, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"I dunno if this is a good time to bring this up or not," Micky eventually said. "But I think it's your right as Mike's double to make him as uncomfortable about this as humanly possible."

She couldn't help a snicker, because Sugar knew, were their positions reversed, Mike would be thinking the same thing. They both enjoyed a little harmless fun - key word being harmless - and she knew it would at least make her feel a little better to do something stupid and silly and senseless. "Got somethin' in mind?"

"Go down there. Kiss Peter on the cheek."

Sugar's smile faded. "I can't do that t'Peter. He's— "

"…in on it," Micky finished. "I talked to him just before I came up to chat with you. He's only still there 'cuz he's waiting. No strings attached. He understands."

Incredulous, but unable to hide a smile, Sugar looked over at Micky, ultimately giving a nod. "All right. Wait here."

Despite the nerves in her belly, Sugar tried to appear confident as she stepped carefully down the spiral staircase and sat next to Peter on the couch. He sat up, an abashed, mostly shy, partially anticipatory look on his face as he waited to see what she'd do. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye, Sugar noticed Mike glance at her, before he went back to strumming random melodies on old Blondie. "Look," she said to Peter, very quietly. "This isn't— "

He smiled, whispering back. "Nah, I get it."

His acceptance, his unwavering innocence, and that almost uncharacteristically mischievous look in his eye just made something click. This was the start of a very long road. He'd have to put up with a lot, she knew, but if he were willing to weather out her trepidation, her embarrassment, and her pre-conceived notions about how her life was supposed to turn out, well…

Well.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned in and kissed him. Right on the lips. A moment later, his hands found her shoulders, and a moment after that—

"AUUGH! AAAHH!"

Mike.

He was standing, staring at them. "I— You— " Approaching, he gently took the girl by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. Slightly impressed with the kiss, Shug hid a grin behind one hand as she met her double's eyes. All Michael could do was smile at her and shake his head, and… Sugar knew this would be okay. This would all work out. Somehow. The ice was broken.

But then, Mike turned a stony glare to Peter.

"My. Baby. Sister. Hands off!"

Sister. Yeah, that sounded right.


	4. Heart

"Over here!"

"Got it! Five points."

"I thought that was three? Hey! Hey, I'm open!"

For most of the afternoon, it had been Mike and Sugar versus Davy, Micky, and Peter. They weren't actually sure what they were playing, since the rules evolved as the game progressed, but it involved a football and utilized the entire pad as their playing field. Despite the fact that they would call out points as they achieved them, no one was actually keeping score.

Sugar threw the ball, Mike missed it, and it landed in the sink, splashing water everywhere. "Oh, okay," she said. "Ball lands in the sink that hasn't drained for three days. Thirteen points sound about right?"

The others took a moment, then concurred.

"All right, fine," Davy said. "But we're still winning by at least a dozen." He plucked the ball out of the sink, shaking off the excess water and making a rather disgusted face. Not only was it wet, but it was all kinds of gross, too. "Of course it'd have to stopper up AFTER we cleaned the dishes, eh? Where's Babbit when we need 'im?"

"A dozen? How d'you figure?" Mike asked. "We've got at least three hundred points with that last move. At least. Shug?"

"At least."

"We've got an even thousand," Micky replied. "When I knocked the lamp over and it didn't break? That was worth five hundred."

"And then I caught a rebound off the ceiling fan," Peter added.

"We don't have a ceiling fan!" Mike complained.

"…Which makes that move all the more impressive," Davy interjected, giving Peter a pat on the back. "And worth more points. Our ball. Let's see if you can catch up."

He handed the ball to Peter, who tossed it to Micky, who immediately fell against the nearest end table, breaking it to pieces. Mike declared that not only was that worth minus seven hundred points - making the score even - but that it was now his team's ball. Or, alternatively, Micky could search the city for a new end table.

"Mike!" Micky whined. Clearly, this was unfair.

"WHAT?!" Mike and Sugar said at the same time.

The room went silent. Just a couple seconds after her blunder, the one girl among them realized her mistake, closed her eyes, sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. "Uh, look, I'm just— "

The others were looking at her, fixing her with that same pitying stare they seemed to use whenever she slipped up - which was far too often for her liking. It was an expression that told her they didn't know what to say, but didn't really want to exacerbate the situation anyway, so they were just going to stay quiet.

Suddenly bristling, she snapped, "What!? It's still mah legal name!"

At the moment, the only thing she could think to do was run away, so, elbowing through the others, she fled, out through the door next to the bay window and down the stairs. That stare! That god-awful stare. They all knew how hard this was, especially since, in her head, she still referred to herself by her given name. How could she help it, really? For the last couple decades, that's who she was, and now…

Hearing footsteps in the grass behind her, Sugar turned around just in time to see her "brother," Michael, stumble as he rushed to catch up. As he managed to stay on his feet - but only just - she rolled her eyes and continued on her way, hoping he'd get the hint and just leave her alone. The last thing she needed anyone to see at the moment was her losing it over something as stupid as being called by the name she should still rightfully possess. It just so happened to be one more thing Mike had that she wanted, along with the rest of her life.

But he either didn't understand the gesture, or didn't care, because after his near-fall, he still managed to catch up to her. Lying one hand on her shoulder, he gave a gentle tug, turning her around to face him. By now, Shug was feeling the uncomfortable sting of tears in her eyes, which she so wanted to blame on the slew of unfamiliar hormones coursing through her, thanks to her recent unceremonious change from male to female. The truth was, though, she was still overwhelmed, still working on piecing together a shattered identity. She was as emotionally exhausted as anyone would be in her position, and it was taking its toll.

Her jaw tensed as Mike met her eyes, and finally, she gave up the fight and blinked, allowing the tears to fall. Besides Peter, he was the only other human being to see her cry, and he seemed at a loss as to what to do. Quickly, she looked away.

"Great. That's just great," she said. Shug tried to shrug Michael's hand away, but he held on, shaking his head.

"Hey," he said. "Y'don't have to run away."

Miserably, she wiped at her eyes, gritting her teeth. As adjusted as she liked to pretend she was, there were moments of complete surrealism that made her stomach tie itself it knots, like this one, as she cried in front of herself. She offered her brother a sardonic smile, about to say something completely self-depreciating, but when she looked up, she was surprised to see the tears in his eyes.

"…are you…?" she asked.

Almost as stunned as she was, he said, "Yeah, I think so." He cleared his throat, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. "Uh— It kinna hurts to see you this way. Hurting, I mean." Awkwardly, he continued, trying to hide the fact that he may or may not have been crying. Truthfully, it made Sugar feel better to know that she would have been capable of doing so, even if she were still herself. And then, Mike said something stupid. "Who knows what you're goin' through better'n me?"

She gave him a shove. "You? You've got no idea," Sugar said. But the fight was gone, and she just felt tired.

"Guess maybe ah don't, but you can tell me about it. Y'know, if you wanna."

She turned toward the ocean, crossing her arms over her chest. In a way, Mike was right; he did know a lot of what she was feeling. When they were one person, they'd both cried about it. She knew how afraid they'd both been, how they were facing a life of nearly everything they knew and loved completely changing. They both knew how weird it was for one of their best friends to be in love with them… But only Sugar knew what it was like to accept that, and try to make it work. Only she knew what it was like to realize that there was no escape, that she would be a woman from now until forever. Mike was gifted with that release, and it had been an unspoken point of contention between them from the moment it happened.

He sighed, sitting down on the rocks. Shug sat next to him, figuring they may as well get this out in the open.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know y'are," she replied. "Doesn't make it any easier for me. I mean, y'got my whole life, Michael. You stepped right back in where we left off, and I…"

He smiled, interrupting. "You're so outspoken an' all, sometimes I forget that you're me."

It was supposed to be a compliment, but it still hurt. When she sniffled, Mike was quick to add, "No, no no no no! I didn't mean it that way, aw, c'mon, don't cry!" He turned her toward himself, and she threw her arms around his shoulders. Unable to help it, as she'd let this build up for several weeks now, she sobbed into her brother's shirt, and he just let her, saying nothing, never judging, just waiting for her to finish.

When she sat back, he'd already maneuvered a handkerchief out of his pocket, and handed it to her.

"I dunno what to do," she whispered.

"Sure y'do. You're the strongest person I know," he said. "I mean, you got a lot goin' for ya, Shug. Y'got a best friend in April. Since you've been around, we've gotten more gigs. And…" He trailed off, obviously a little confounded as to how to proceed. "Weird as I find it, you got a boy who's pretty much smitten with you. And that's more than I got."

"Well, if you want a boy to be smitten with you, ah'll talk to— "

"No! No, that's okay. That's okay." Mike rubbed at the back of his head, chuckling nervously. "You take great joy in makin' me sweat, don't ya?"

She shrugged, smiled, and went back to looking at the ocean.

Again, Mike cleared his throat, starting quietly. "You don't have t'stop bein' Michael Nesmith," he said. "It's who you are. It's what's in here." He pointed to her chest, then rested his hand on his knee. "We can't help the whole situation that made you, and we can't help that we split in half, but I ain't sorry 'bout that. It's nice to have someone around that knows what corralling the others is like." He paused, and they both laughed. Yes, the job of being in charge was a tough one. "And Micky, Peter, an' Davy get that, too, so if you respond to 'Mike' once in awhile, they get it, and I get it. And you shouldn't try to break free o' that just 'cuz you think you have to forget who you were. No one's expectin' you to.

"But we're already different people. I can see it in your eyes, in how y'carry yourself, in your smile. If you're worried about people forgetting all that jes' 'cuz you answer to my name once, well, you know better. 'cuz I know better."

"Well," she said dryly, managing to fight away the tears this time, "You would know exactly what I'm thinking, wouldn't you?"

"C'mon, you gotta admit, that comes in handy."

She smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "It helps to hear it out loud."

"You know Aunt Kate used to slip up an' call us Clara. Same thing. Only kinda in reverse, 'cuz I never answered to 'Clara.'"

"…Yes you did. Mike, y'can't lie to me."

"…Yeah, I guess I can't."

"Look, I'll be okay. I know I will. Gettin' used to all this, well…" She sat up, looking down at herself, before meeting his eyes. "This whole breakdown thing's gonna happen sometimes. You can't come to my rescue every time I storm off." She offered what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "But it's great to know I got someone to lean on an' all. If I need it."

"'course, Shug. So we re-write history a little. Yer family. I'd do anything for you."

"You're gonna make me cry again."

"It's payback for all the smoochin' on Peter you do in front of me."

She gave him a shove, and he laughed, and the moment was broken. Maybe they'd never speak of it again, but they'd remember.

"C'mon," Mike said. "We evened the score. I bet we can get at least a hundred points before dinner."

She waved him on, telling him that she'd catch up in a couple minutes. Shug just needed a second alone. Closing her eyes, she took to heart what her brother had said, and imagined, just for a moment, that nothing had changed. He wasn't entirely right— she'd have to let this go eventually. But there wasn't any hurry, especially if she could, at least for now, derive comfort from the fact that they were the same.

And always would be.


	5. Journal

Day 000

My name is Micky Dolenz. I have just made the greatest scientific discovery of all time.

If they knew I was doing this, they'd probably kill me.

As both subject Michael Nesmiths have same name, will be referring to male Michael as Michael A and girl Michael as Michael B.

It appears Michael B is Michael A's exact genetic clone, save for the fact that Michael B is female. Michael B is the result of a partially-successful attempt to revert Michael A to his proper sex. Attempt resulted in two Michaels.

Today is Michael B's birthday. She came into the world weighing one-hundred some pounds and approximately six feet, one inch tall. She is obviously distressed.

Day 001

Michael B still distressed. Have never seen Michael A cry before. Seeing his genetic duplicate cry is disturbing and makes me want to hug her.

Michael A still distressed. Michael A appears unsure as to how to proceed.

Michael A called band practice. Michael B stole Michael A's guitar and locked self in bathroom. Band practice cancelled.

Have noticed slight variations in appearance. Michael B appears to be subconsciously coming to terms with fact that she will likely remain female and is wearing hair different.

Day 002

Caught Michael B glancing at memory potion recipe again. I Argued with Michael B.

Tore page out of book and ate it. For science.

Michael B seems to be in bad mood. Seems reluctant to speak with anyone in the house. Pinned me against wall and glared at me when I asked her if it was possibly "That Time of the Month." Note to self: Never do that again.

Day 003

There seems to be extreme friction between Michael A and Michael B regarding who can lay claim to personal belongings. This includes identity. Michael A claims he is the original. Michael B claims she is the original.

This led to an argument, which then let to a physical altercation. Neither subject was severely injured.

I was able to collect blood sample from each afterward. You know, from the floor. Analyzed blood sample. Determined that both samples were red, which was as far as I got before I realized I have no analytical tools.

I don't think either Michael will ever accept or work well with the other.

Day 004

Michael B discovered this journal.

Michael B summoned Michael A.

Michael B and Michael A duct-taped journal to my face. Extraction from hair took three hours.

Michael B and Michael A are now on much better terms. I retract my statement from yesterday. Michael A referring to Michael B as "Little Sister."

Oh dear god, they're staring at me.

Day 005

Michael A has torn the rest of the pages out of my journal.

Michael B has chosen the name "Sugar."

Sugar replaced my bedsheets with the missing pages, painstakingly stitched together and dyed pink.

This is Micky, over and out.


	6. The Difference is You

Sugar had the feeling that April suspected it all along, really. But when you were grounded in a world that made sense, thinking of your new friend as someone who formerly may have been a love interest would have been completely absurd.

But April, while prone to becoming overwhelmed, was not an idiot.

Sugar and her bandmates got too comfortable around April, maybe, and the blonde woman heard them talking one day while they were doing their laundry. It was just some stupid little thing - no one else would have been able to put two and two together, but April had been there almost since the beginning, and knowing "Sugar's" mannerisms at the time, her awkwardness… This was just the last piece of the puzzle.

Worst of all, Sugar wasn't even sure what they'd said for everything to fall into place for their friendly neighborhood laundry science expert. But as they threw their clothes into the washing machine, the female Nesmith twin noticed her friend approaching cautiously, eyes flicking between herself and her brother until April was practically nose-to-nose with them.

She looked into Michael's eyes, then into Sugar's, carefully. Her gaze lingered on the latter's face until, confused, April said, "Michael?"

Sugar and the boys looked at each other, the silent question bouncing between them. None of them wanted to lie to the fair-haired woman, least of all the one of them who was supposed to be April's best friend, but it was a coverup of necessity. Furthermore, Sugar knew that if she waited just one more second, her brother would have taken control and suavely and effectively denied the whole thing; in fact, he already had a look in his eye which betrayed that he was working on spinning a convincing yarn. Sugar couldn't take it anymore - it wasn't fair. She needed a girl in her life to know what the hell she'd been through, 'cuz figuratively leaning on her bandmates sometimes got a little awkward.

To be fair, there were better things she could have said. For example, "Let me explain," or "Not anymore," or even "No, we should talk about this a little later."

What she said was, "Yeah, April?"

The other woman looked pretty horrified. Not in the classic face-twisting sense, but with class - her lip curled up just the slightest bit and her eyes found something more interesting to look at as she backed away, toward the door. Sugar tried to stop her, half-heartedly reaching out a hand. "Hey, y'can't just leave— April!"

Too late.

Confused, Sugar looked at Davy, who had his face in his hand.

Peter looked between Sugar and the door, as if expecting the owner of the laundromat to return.

Michael just stood there with his jaw slack, interrupted before he could make up his story. In the end, it was Micky who went after April, calling "Make sure you get all my socks this time!" over his shoulder as he left.

"What?" Sugar asked. Davy tried to drape an arm over her shoulder, but she was too tall, so she leaned down a bit.

"You just 'ad a slumber party, aye?" the short Englishman asked. Sugar nodded. "See 'er in 'er jammies, yeah?"

Getting it, Sugar blinked. "She doesn't think— "

"Oh yes, dear. She does think."

After a moment, all the girl could think to say was, "Huh."

—-

Around eight o'clock that night, Sugar sat up in her room, trying to work out a bridge for the next song they were going start rehearsing. It was how she could push the bad things that haunted her away for a little while, where she didn't have to think about them. At the moment, she couldn't even fathom losing the one friend she'd actually made all on her own - and the one person outside the boys she was comfortable being around - so she just wasn't going to consider it at all.

Until she had to go to sleep, then her brain would allow her to think of nothing else.

Still, she was surprised when she heard a knock on the door, and saw one familiar dark eye peering through the crack.

Sitting up and setting the guitar to the side, Sugar said, "April? What're you doin' here?"

April pushed open the door, stepped gracefully through it, and closed it again. "I'm so sorry, Shug, Dear, I shouldn't have left how I did earlier."

Despite herself, Sugar offered her friend a lazy half-smile. "Aw, it's okay. After Davy explained what was botherin' you, I can see why you would. But look, I never… Uh, man, I don't even know where t'start."

"Well, to be honest, I just didn't know what to think! I mean, you…" She trailed off, meeting Sugar's eyes. They both chuckled nervously.

"Trust me. I know all about how it's a tough subject to get talkin' about. You talk to Micky?"

April nodded. "Yes, I did. It must be horrible for you, all this. And what I put you through at the start! I'm so sorry. If I'd realized…"

Offering a genuine chortle, Sugar slapped her knee. "Then it wouldn'ta done much good, April. I needed to look like a girl, and you did a fine job. I guess we … didn't really count on this whole mess stickin' around after the fact. And, ah… My friendship with you? It's real. I'm not thinkin' anything … untoward or nothin'."

April sat down on the edge of the bed, looking Sugar up and down. "So now you're a girl."

"Yep."

After what seemed like forever, April cracked a smile. "I swear, I make the strangest friends— you need help?"

"Do I," Sugar laughed. "I got a quick crash course, an' now people are tellin' me I can't wear my own pajamas. It's a nightmare." She grew serious, looking up at April through her own dark hair. "I really, really need you to be okay with this."

"It'll take some getting used to, now that I know, but I realize you could have kept on with your story, and you didn't. That took a lot of trust, Dear."

"It was kind of bittersweet," Sugar replied, her voice quiet.

"Oh?" April asked. "How do you mean?"

"It's just… When you left, it was the first time I ever thought to myself, 'I wish I wasn't Michael.' I couldn't be too upset about it all, 'cuz that was a big step forward for me. Still, I'd rather have you around. You're my best friend."

She should have anticipated the hug, but even so, April almost knocked her backward onto the floor.

"Oh, Honey, I'm not going anywhere.


	7. Reflection

It was funny how she didn't realize she'd been avoiding her reflection until she happened to catch a glimpse of it in the rearview mirror of the GTO. Of course, she'd looked into a mirror many times over the past weeks, but her eyes always searched for the things she found familiar - her eyes, the way the bridge of her nose sloped downward - it was almost exactly like it used to be, before Micky turned her life inside out.

The two of them - the mad scientist and the guinea pig - were supposed to be driving to the airport to fetch Davy, who was returning from a trip back home. But the moment she reached up to adjust the mirror and caught a glimpse of her jawline, and how her lips were so much more feminine than they were supposed to be, Sugar experienced a moment of utter panic when the knowledge that she was looking in a mirror clashed with the fact that the person staring back wasn't her. Him. Her?!

She grappled for the door handle, shouldered the door open, and only just made it out of the car before she lost her lunch.

As she was still sputtering, she registered the sound of the passenger side door opening, and a moment later, Micky's hand was on her shoulder.

"…When did you eat _that?!_" he asked.

Unable to help it, Sugar chuckled.

"Seriously, though," Micky went on. "What the heck was that about?"

With her head still spinning, all she could really manage was, "I'm a girl."

"I honestly hadn't noticed," Micky said flatly, helping her to her feet. As she took a couple deep breaths, lip curling from the taste still in her mouth, he added, "You were doin' so good, Shug, what happened?"

"Just… moments."

"…You gonna be okay? You want me to go get Davy on my own?"

The panic subsided, she took another deep breath, and smiled. "Pff. If I let you drive without supervision, you'll find a way t'crash the car into a flyin' airplane. Go on, I'll drive."

—-

With everyone safe at home, and their little English friend sound asleep after his long plane ride, Sugar still felt restless. The feeling, honestly, had come and gone in a way she couldn't explain - one moment she was sick, and the next, absolutely fine. And it had something to do with her reflection.

Eventually, when thinking about the situation yielded no results or answers, she stormed off to the bathroom so she could get a good look at herself in the mirror.

Unsure what to expect, Sugar was completely surprised that she really felt nothing at all. There was enough about her reflection that she recognized as herself that it didn't seem weird to look at it. Of course, it still felt weird, considering the things she saw that were just all wrong - most notably, a shapely chest that she feared she'd never get used to - but overall, she'd come to accept the abomination of science that she saw staring back as _her._

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that no matter how hard she tried, she was seeing less of Michael Nesmith in that face. Her hair was already longer, parted a little differently and held out of her face with barrettes instead of that old green wool hat that she missed so much. There was something about her confused expression that seemed - well, the only way she could really describe it was _less male._ Even her eyes, the old fallback where she searched to re-discover her identity, seemed less _his_ and more _hers._

She didn't recognize the person reflected back at her.

First, she felt a stab of fear. The very next moment, the mirror in front of her was gone, and her hand hurt; she could only conclude that she'd struck the glass, although she couldn't quite remember doing so.

Her knuckles were bleeding. By some miracle, she hadn't injured herself too badly, though, and reached for the roll of toilet paper sitting on the vanity. Unraveling it, she wrapped it around her fingers, cursing quietly, hoping that maybe no one had heard the shattering mirror.

But Peter appeared at the open door, giving Sugar a once-over as she stared back. Angry with herself, she was daring him with her eyes to say something to set her off, to give her an excuse to yell and rant and rave and otherwise cover up the fear with her shouting. Had it been Michael who'd come to the door, maybe she could goad him into a fight, but the blond young man who was standing in front of her looked at her with neither incredulity or pity. His eyes always had a strange sort of hope to them, unjudging, disarming.

"We'll, uh, need another mirror," she said, abashed. Sliding down the wall, she sat on the floor across from the vanity, nursing her hurt hand. Most of the glass had fallen into the sink, but Peter bent down to pick up the bits that hadn't, setting them safely out of the way, before he sat down next to her.

"You know, that's seven years' bad luck," he said quietly, attempting a weak smile.

Sugar laughed. "Oh, I dunno how it can get much worse than what I've been through."

Of course, she immediately thought of a dozen ways it could get worse, but by then, it was too late to take what she'd said back.

Peter hesitated, then inched a little closer to her. This cramped space wasn't exactly the best place to talk things through, but at this point, Sugar had exhausted herself in one short burst of panicked adrenaline, and didn't feel much like moving. Peter, being the kind soul that he was, didn't complain, and when he'd slid close enough, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Not exactly the romance you were expectin', eh?" she asked.

"I'm just here as a friend right now, Sugar."

"I 'ppreciate it, Pete."

And there they sat, for maybe a half hour, just staring at the toilet.

"Ah'm startin' to put the pieces of the puzzle together," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Seein' the whole picture, instead of just the bits I wanna see."

He hesitated for a beat, before asking, "Is that… good?"

"It hurts," she said, her breath hitching. Peter's arm was instantly around her, holding her close. "But y'can't do much with your life 'til you accept who y'are." She paused, then added, "Or in my case, _what_ y'are."

"Hey! You're not a 'what.' You're a 'who!'" Peter turned toward her, looking almost angry, albeit with his lower lip sticking out in a pout. When she smiled and rolled her eyes, he settled back against the wall, and she put her head back on his shoulder. Up until now, it was as much affection as she was willing to show, other than the occasional "accidental" kiss.

"I'm a what," she said. Leaning forward a bit, she reached for his hand, her fingers hovering over it as doubts crept back into her thoughts. She had to move on. She had to stop thinking about what the other guys would think, what Michael would think, or how she was going to make this work long-term. And as her hand shook, Peter reached up, gently took her wrist, and guided her hand away, back onto her knee.

"You don't have anything to prove to me," he said. But before he could release her, she took his hand in both of hers and gave it a squeeze.

And that was it. That was all she could manage. Quietly, she went back to fussing with the tissue bandage she'd tied around her fingers.

This time, it was Peter who broke the silence. "I know you guys think that I don't… That I don't get things," he said. "But I know. I… just don't know how to say it."

Interested, Sugar asked, "Can y'try?"

He bit his lip, meeting her eyes. She found it hard not to look away, and realized that lately, her eye contact with almost anyone had been fleeting at best. Wanting Peter to know that anything he had to say would be perfectly safe with her, she even offered a smile.

"I just like you for who you are. I know who you are in your memories, and… And I know that it's not exactly… Uh… normal… acceptable…"

"Conventional," she supplied.

"Yeah, that." He offered a genuine, beaming smile. "But you are who you are. And— And whether or not I'm in your life in any way from now until whenever, I'll always think you're the most awesome person I've ever met."

"Ever?" Sugar asked dubiously.

"Are you kidding? I don't think most of the people I know could go through what you did and still smile. I don't think I could."

She chuckled. "Well. The reality's still settling. Let's see how I'm doing in a few years."


	8. Bashful

I don't ever remember being shy. I've felt my insides twist up like a tornado was spinnin' around in there, sure, but in all my years, I don't remember havin' a feeling quite like this.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door a crack, peeking out. Though I couldn't see 'em, I could hear 'em okay, so I knew they were all down there. This was a big deal for me; I'd actually had nightmares about this moment, even though it wouldn't be that big a thing for most people.

Guess I should back up a bit.

Once upon a time, Micky thought it'd be a good idea to play science with my ego. Makin' a long story short, he ended up splittin' me into two different people - Michael, my brother; and me, Sugar. Mike's who I was - Reticent, quiet, thoughtful. Male. And while we share two and a half decades of memories, somethin' changed in me, 'cuz somewhere along the line, I got a pretty bad temper. I guess I can be a little outspoken. I've also been a girl for an entire year, and I guess I'm pretty okay with it at this point.

But there's certain things I've had trouble with - hurdles I haven't been able to get past. I want to, though, 'cuz it's kind of nice starting over an' bein' someone else. I like seein' things from the opposite side. And there's been somethin' I've been wantin' to do for awhile and haven't had the courage to do it, 'til Peter said that it didn't matter what I wore, I'd look pretty no matter what.

Yeah, I still got reservations about my feelings for that boy, but I ain't about to admit that there aren't any. And I wanted to … ah, well.

I was standin' in my room wearin' a dress.

Nothin' fancy. But it definitely wasn't what I usually wore. No boots, no button-down shirt. It was black and plain, but I liked it all right, and I thought Peter would, too. The thing that made me nervous is that it was the first time I'd done it for no reason, without bein' coerced. Everyone always thought that when I had to dress up for stuff - fancy gigs and whatnot - it hurt my pride, and I went on pretendin' it did 'cuz I didn't want to be embarrassed about tellin' 'em that dresses are pretty comfortable.

I knew I could do this. I could do anything. I was a Nesmith, dammit, and nothin' anyone said could get to me. Except in those nightmares, some faceless jerk would always point to me and laugh and say something like, 'look, Mike's wearin' a dress!' and it always hurt. You can't just bottle up twenty-five years of bein' a man and act like everything's okay when somethin' turns your life upside-down. Somewhere inside, I'm still him, and sometimes, I'm still sad.

Today, I was just hopeful.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door, heading down the spiral staircase. I didn't say anything, because I thought that if I did, maybe I'd lose my nerve. All I did was go sit on the couch, across from Micky, who was readin' in the chair.

He glanced up, then looked me up and down. He smiled, and for a moment, I thought he was gonna say somethin' awful, even though I knew him better than that. I bit my lip, feeling my heart sink, but when he met my eyes, all he said was, "It's about time."

I didn't thank him out loud, but I'm sure he saw it in my face. I relaxed for a second, 'til he said this:

"Hey, Peter, c'mere for a sec."

"What're you doin'!?" I hissed.

It was too late to escape, though, because Peter came into the living room, carryin' a dish he'd been washing in the stoppered-up sink. When he saw me, he set the plate down on an end table, ran into his bedroom, and shut the door.

Feeling like I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, I scrunched down, looking at my knees, tangling my fingers in my hair. Never thought I could scare Peter off just by tryin' to be me, and that jerk Dolenz just went back to reading his book. Didn't even say anything!

I couldn't decide whether to retreat to my room or just sit there on the couch pretendin' no one else existed 'til they all went to bed. Then I could sneak off and pretend this never happened without anyone botherin' me. But just as I was about decided to flee, someone knelt down in front of me, touched my chin, and raised my face up.

I remember wonderin' where Peter'd gotten a white rose, then I noticed he was wearin' a tuxedo. I looked past him to see a smug little grin on Micky's face, but he was still readin', so I looked back to the brown-eyed boy in front of me. Despite my confusion, I smiled. "Pete, what the hell're you doin' in a tux?"

He replied, mimicking my accent, "Sugar, what the hell're you doin' in a dress?"

I rolled my eyes, and he helped me to my feet. "Look," he said. "If you ever did it, I just wanted you to feel comfortable." He pinned the rose to my dress, and again, I wondered why he had it in the first place. He must have sensed the question, because he said, kind of shyly, "I've been buying roses, hoping you'd do something so that I could give you one."

I laughed, reached up with one hand, and poked his nose. "You're a little odd, you know that?"

Chuckling, he replied, "You're one to talk."


	9. That Look

Sugar didn't always have to look in a mirror to see her reflection, since whenever she saw her brother, Michael, she saw herself. Between them, they shared a special, sort of awkward look that they'd give each other. His said to her, 'you're supposed to be me, what are you doing?' while hers said to him, 'I'm supposed to be you, what am I doing?' This look became a source of comfort for them both over the years, because no one else in the world really had the truest understanding of what it meant.

They shared it the first time she wore a dress on her own whim. When she wrote a song with self-proper pronouns. When she became engaged, when she got married…

And here he was again, standing at the door, leaning against the doorframe, giving her that look. All she could do was return it, sheepishly.

Somewhere along the line, the face in the mirror became hers, while her brother's face became a separate entity - complete and whole. She still saw the resemblance - the bridge of his nose, his eyes - but it no longer made her sick to her stomach when she realized that the differences were more than just superficial, and her life had completely diverged from his.

She'd done it.

He broke their shared look as Peter met him at the door and wrapped him in a bear-hug.

Sugar smiled and said, "All right, Mike. C'mon over here and meet your nephew."


	10. The Way you Walk

Mike just happened to look up from his chair one day as Sugar carried groceries into the kitchen, and noticed that something was different about her. He couldn't help a chuckle, looking back down at his magazine with the unlikely hope that she hadn't heard him.

But, setting the bags on the table, she turned to him, one hand on her hip. "What're you snickerin' at?"

He was about to say that it was something in the magazine, but he'd just so happened to pick up a National Geographic - who the hell knew where _that_ came from - so the likelihood of his sister buying that story was incredibly remote. He glanced side to side in the way he did when he felt guilty, but couldn't really think of any sort of plausible cover story.

She sighed. "Okay, let's hear it."

"You know," Mike said, almost shyly. "Just, the way you're walkin'. It's so girly."

For a moment, her face was passive and expressionless, then she arched her eyebrows. "How's someone walk girly? You either walk or you don't walk."

"I dunno, just… Y'are, that's all."

"Show me."

"…What?"

Sugar crossed her arms. "Yeah, show me what I'm doin', if it's so different."

Mike looked around, pushing himself out of his chair. He didn't see or hear the other guys, which was good, because he'd die of embarrassment if they saw what he did next. Walking across the house, he exaggerated Sugar's steps, swinging his hips like she had done, only a little worse, so she'd get the idea.

He'd reached the door, and was about to do the same thing back the other way, when he looked at her. Both hands were over her mouth as she laughed silently, with tears in her eyes that eventually spilled over down her cheeks.

Then Mike realized.

"_Michael. Sugar. Nesmith_. You're puttin' me on!"

Unable to hold her mirth inside any longer, she squeaked, doubling over and laughing like a hyena. Through this, she still managed, "My name ain't Michael!"

"Yeah, well," Mike crossed his arms, trying to pout, but a smile crept onto his face. "It sounds more serious that way."

"Of course I walk like a girl!" she said, still snickering. "'Cuz _I'm a girl._ But, man, if only I had a camera. Wait 'til I tell the guys when they get back."

"You wouldn't."

"It's my job."

His mouth pressed into a thin line. It was the only warning she had before he started running after her. Squeaking again, she fled out the back door.


	11. One Little Mistake

Thinking he would head out to the Monkeemobile to see if anything needed tuning, charging, cleaning, or changing, Micky found himself quite surprised to find someone already there. She was sitting in the driver's seat facing outside, legs crossed at the ankle. Her eyes, staring blankly ahead, were red, and her face was wet. It took Micky a second to realize she'd been crying.

Unsure about what to do - because he'd never actually seen Sugar cry before - he stood there, head tilted, weight on one leg, with his arms crossed. He was trying to resolve what he saw with what he understood, and things just weren't coming together for him. It wasn't until she glanced at him, those big, brown eyes full of pain, that he broke.

"Shug?" He knelt down in front of her. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He got the sense that he wouldn't like the answer. Although he tended to look on the positive side of things, it was only because he could think about all the bad in the world and set it aside to make people laugh. When it came to his friends, though, he couldn't force himself to smile.

Quickly, he stood, running around the front of the car so he could slip in through the passenger side door. After he shut it, she did the same, sitting at the steering wheel with her arms crossed.

Micky noticed the key was in the ignition. "Were you going somewhere?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Naw, just listenin' to the radio."

"Oh." He looked out the window, killing a few moments. "Look, the doors are closed, so no one can hear ya. What's going on?"

"Y'wouldn't get it, Mick." Sugar sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, before going back to pouting. "You'd — aw, just forget it. No one was s'posed t'see me."

He reached over, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a little shove. She turned her head just long enough to meet his eyes, then went back to staring at the steering wheel. Somewhere along the line, she'd swiped Michael's wool hat, which sat atop her head at a skewed angle, doing nothing to hide the disheveled hair under it. "C'mon, Shug. How long've you known me?"

"As a guy? Years. As a girl…?"

"Way to bring that back," Micky said softly, smiling. She smiled, as well, though at the same time, she blinked, and another tear rolled down her cheek.

"I can't stop cryin', Micky. It's been like, twenty minutes, and the more I think of it, the more I want to cry."

Micky's smile disappeared, concern in its place. Leaning over a little, he asked, "Did someone, you know… hurt you?" Close enough now, and never one to observe any rules regarding personal space, he took her chin and turned her face toward his, until they were practically nose to nose.

Sugar pushed him away. "Naw, nothin' like that. Look, you gotta promise not to laugh."

"Laugh? Why would I— "

"I heard a song on the radio. I've been cryin' ever since."

"A… song?"

She nodded. "Just some random number. Never heard it before, but the words really got to me. Never really felt music like that before… I dunno, Mick. All these new feelin's. They're botherin' me, and I don't always have control over— Are you laughin'?"

He was hiding his smile behind a hand, looking sideways at her. Unfortunately, along with his smirk, he was unable to stop the shaking of his shoulders, which gave away his laughter. They'd all heard songs on the radio over the years - many, many years - and none of them had ever been moved to tears over them. Given that Micky found humor in everything, sometimes he just had to find a little in the fact that one of his best friends in the world was now trapped in the body of a girl. "Hey, if we can't find the little things funny, what good is life?"

Sugar stared at him for awhile, expression unreadable. For a moment, he was worried, until she sniffled and smiled, a chuckle escaping. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's pretty funny, huh? It wasn't even that sad of a song."

Reaching over, he patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll get used to all this stuff. It'll just take a little time."

Nodding, she seemed to relax. Figuring he'd work on the car later, so as not to bother the girl anymore, he gave her one more smile and headed back up to the house. After all, he had a story to tell now, and he couldn't wait to tell it…

—-

The problem, Sugar realized, was something she despised having to deal with. She hated hiding it from the guys - after all, she felt as if she should be one of them - but considering the whole routine that came with these awful mood swings, she just couldn't let them know how far away she'd gotten from her old life. If she were to tell anyone, it certainly couldn't be Mike, since he was technically her clone, and outwardly her brother. Peter was sweet, but Shug wasn't entirely sure he'd understand, and talking to Davy about girl problems… Well, every time she contemplated that, she shivered a little. Micky seemed like a safe choice, and perhaps she could release the crazy truth to him just a little bit at a time. His reaction had been mild enough when she told him about crying over a song. Maybe he'd just get it.

She had to trust one of her housemates, after all.

Checking the rearview mirror to make sure her eyes weren't puffy or red anymore, she finally left the car, taking a deep breath and heading back up to the house.

Quietly, she slipped through the front door. The guys were by the bay window, as well as Davy's girlfriend-of-the-week, who was quietly tittering away at some story Micky was telling. As Sugar got closer, Mike looked over his shoulder, an odd smile on his face, and it was only then that she started paying attention to Micky's words.

"…Tears streaming down her face. Over a song. I couldn't believe it."

She stopped in her tracks, heel tapping against the floor and alerting the others to her presence. The nameless girl chuckled, and Davy hugged her close. Peter wore a cautiously neutral expression, in direct contrast with the wide grin plastered onto Micky's face.

In that moment, Sugar saw red.

The next thing she remembered, she had Micky pinned up against a wall, her fist drawn back and caught securely in Mike's hand. She must have struck the drummer at least once, because his lip was bleeding, but Mike wasn't allowing a second go.

"Shug. Y'can't maim Micky! It ain't lady-like!"

"Lemme go, Mike! _LET ME GO._"

"No. No way, Shug."

Micky, meanwhile, looked terrified.

"C'mon, it was just a story. We all have stories…" Gently, Peter placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to relinquish the fight. But she wouldn't - a great injustice had been committed, and she had to correct it.

Mike tried to pull her back, but she tugged on Micky's collar and slammed him back against the wall. He grunted, cowering as she tugged at her restrained fist. Thankfully, neither she nor Mike had any more strength than the other, and, thusly deadlocked, Sugar really had no choice but to free her captive. He quickly skittered away, eyes wide as he hid behind a chair. "You laughed, too! You thought it was funny! I told— I told 'em!"

Mike wrapped his arms around her, gently drawing her backward. At the same time, he whispered, "Not okay?"

Sugar shook her head.

Micky dabbed at his lip, wincing.

"I trusted ya, Mick," Sugar said. "I trusted you with somethin' personal. It weren't for you to tell." Pausing, she looked around, glad to see that Davy at least had the good sense to get his girlfriend out of the house. Now that her sense was returning, she could kind of remember leaping over the couch to get at Micky, during which the girl may have screamed a little. She also remembered Peter and Mike trying to pull her back, and almost failing despite their combined forces. "I was only laughin' 'cuz you made me feel better, not 'cuz I thought my problems were funny."

"But…" Micky said, helplessly.

"But nothin'. You best be glad Mike's holdin' onto me, or I'd break your fool face!"

"You don't mean that, Shug," Peter said gently. "C'mon. You know Micky."

She really didn't.

And he looked so confused. And a little hurt. A _lot_ hurt, actually, considering the red line trickling down his chin. Seeing that calmed her temper a little, and she relaxed. "You c'n lemme go, Mike. I ain't gonna hurt 'im."

Carefully, he released her arms, and Sugar was true to her word. That didn't mean she couldn't still stand there and glare, though, which she did, until Davy entered through the bay window door, sans-girl. The short Brit put his arm around Micky's shoulder and said, "C'mon, mate. Let's go take a walk. I need to talk to you about women."

He led the drummer through the door, though Micky, his face still completely baffled, glanced back over his shoulder before they went down the stairs.

Peter and Mike just stared at her. Curling her lip, she turned and stomped up the stairs to her room.

—-

Micky hissed as Mike pressed an ice cube to his lip. The bleeding had stopped, but he had a pretty good bruise spreading along his jawline. "I don't get it, Mike. She laughed. It was funny… I didn't think she'd mind if I said somethin'. I mean, we rag on each other all the time."

Mike rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. "You talked to Davy, yeah?"

Micky reached up, taking the towel holding the ice from Mike. "Yeah. He kinda told me what she's been going through." Shuddering, he looked at the floor. "Dunno how _he_ knows so much about it."

"'cuz Tiny knows more about women than he does about himself. It's his nature." Mike stood up from his crouch, sitting next to his bandmate.

"…Well, you know about it, too! How 'come I'm always the last to know?"

Leaning back on his hands, Mike said, "If it makes you feel better, I don't think Peter really knows, either."

"Yeah, well, Peter doesn't know that the capital of Florida is Orlando, either."

"The capital of Florida is Tallahassee."

Micky sighed. Honestly, he'd just been doing what they'd always done to each other - sharing embarrassing stories, having a laugh at each others' expense… Sugar hadn't specifically told him this crying thing was a secret, and he'd left her in good spirits… "She's one of the guys, Mike. I didn't mean anything by it, you know?"

"She ain't one of the guys anymore, Mick," Mike said. "I mean, she is, but… She's goin' through some stuff that requires a li'l… I dunno. Sensitivity. Tact. Somethin' you lack, if I remember right."

"We all have our weaknesses," Micky muttered, slumping. The way she was looking at him, it seemed that she'd never forgive him. After his talk with Davy, he kind of understood why. Still, if it'd been him that cried because of a song on the radio, she wouldn't have hesitated to tell the others. "Why the double standard?"

Michael shrugged. "I dunno. It's there, though. You gotta try to understand, Mick. How would you like to go through what she's goin' through? And when she finally opens up to someone about it and thinks she's got someone to trust, you go and… well, you know whatcha did. I don't have to drive the point home no more, I'm sure."

Oh. Trust.

"Yeah, I guess … Thinkin' back, it took a lot of courage to tell me what she did." He rubbed his temples, fingers tugging at his curls. "Oh man, Mike. What am I gonna do? It's not like I intended to hurt her!"

"But you did," Mike replied. "And I ain't gonna help you outta this one. You hurt her, you hurt me." He gave Micky a pat on the shoulder, which was half encouraging, half incredibly painful. The drummer pitched forward onto the floor, turning to look up at their fearless leader, who now sat with his arms crossed. "_You_ fix it."

—-

Sugar hugged herself, and slouched over her crossed legs, making herself look as tiny as possible. The redness in her cheeks hadn't dissipated even a little since she caught Micky violating her trust. And now they all knew what was happening to her, and why she got so moody every few weeks, which made her feel more distant from them all than ever.

Still, Peter sat next to her on the bed, his shoulder touching hers, just silently waiting for her to speak - or not - as she so chose.

Logically, she knew all four of the guys had her back in anything - that no matter what happened to her, they'd love her no matter what. Still, the fact that they _knew_… it mortified her. Made her feel less like Michael Nesmith and more like another one of Davy's damsel-in-distress girlfriends. It made her feel more vulnerable. More like a girl. What was wrong with that, though? She knew some pretty powerful women who certainly weren't vulnerable or weak, but with so many years of being a chivalrous, if somewhat awkward man stuck in her memory, she felt that if the other guys knew how much of a woman she'd become, they'd feel the need to protect her, and she certainly didn't need protecting.

Eventually, after hours of silence, Peter got up and left, closing the door behind him.

—-

Micky kept a close eye on Sugar the next morning. She seemed okay, honestly, greeting the other guys and joking with them as she'd always done. Feeling confident that the entire episode had blown over, he approached her, only to be met with a stony, angry glare that made his blood turn cold. Still, he asked, "Shug, can I talk to you for a minute?"

The others were glaring at him as well.

"Later's good, too, I guess. Just… you know. When… you're ready."

Slinking away, he quickly escaped through the front door.

He felt awful. The more he pondered over it, the more he realized that he'd breached a carefully executed boundary of trust that she'd laid out for him, and now she'd have to live with it. He hadn't hurt her physically - he'd never do that, of course, even if the opposite wasn't true - but he'd cut her deep nevertheless. Micky wasn't sure he knew how to repair that.

He tried to put himself in her shoes, quite literally walking into a womens' shoe store and trying on the largest pair of shoes he could find. Though he looked absolutely darling in a woman's size thirteen flat, he couldn't see how this was at all helping. He finally left when the manager of the store asked him what the hell he thought he was doing… But not before quipping that he should be able to wear any shoe he wanted, thank you very much. He also bought them. Maybe Sugar would appreciate the gift.

He wrapped them up, too, and managed to find a length of ribbon in the pad that was long enough to go around the entire box a couple times. It had frayed ends, but Micky thought it looked pretty good anyway. At least, it was the prettiest present he'd ever wrapped up - to his knowledge.

He hurried to find her, and presented her with the box. Curiosity won over and she opened it.

The smile she offered him didn't reach her eyes, so Micky knew that things weren't okay between them. Still, she stopped glaring so much, which gave him a little confidence. "Sugar, can't we talk?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Mick, I just need some time. That was the first time I really trusted any o' you with that particular issue, and the first thing you did was… Ah, never mind. Look, just go, okay? You done enough damage already."

Sugar put the lid back on the box and set the whole thing on the kitchen table. The frayed end of the ribbon draped almost all the way to the floor.

—-

"You should give him a chance, Shug," Davy said. They both sat in her room as she worked the new shoes onto her feet.

They were nice, and she understood the fact that they were a peace offering, but she was never one to allow someone to buy her trust. It had taken a good long time for her to even get up the courage to say anything at all about what she had to go through, and accepting the shoes as an apology would only cheapen that whole process. She couldn't do it. "Don't worry, Tiny. I will. You know me."

"Yeah, I do." He shrugged. "If it makes y'feel any better, Carrie won't be back. I think you scared her pretty good."

"Oh, was that her name?"

Davy nodded. "Yeah, I didn't like her much, anyway. She only wanted me for my stunning good looks and perfect teeth."

Sugar chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry, Davy. Didn't mean to frighten the poor thing."

He laughed. "Oh man, you shoulda seen your face. It was amazing. I thought Micky was gonna faint."

When she frowned, Davy did, too. Standing, she took a few steps, finding the shoes comfortable enough. Maybe she was ready to wear something other than boots once in awhile. The fact that they were her size meant Micky at least knew her well enough to get something right, too, and that sentiment made her feel a good measure of affection toward him. But he'd hurt her pretty bad, and Sugar was reluctant to just forgive.

"Sorry, Shug. I was just tryin' to make you feel better."

She shrugged. "You are. I just don't know what to do. I mean, now y'all know."

His smile was gentle, reassuring, and put her completely at ease. For a moment, Sugar saw exactly why other girls fell so readily for him, and had to look away before she found herself asking for his number. He laughed, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't worry, Shug. You won't have been the first lass to fall under my spell." He wrapped his arm around her waist and chuckled. Rolling her eyes, she gave him a shove.

"You must be joking," she quoted.

He stumbled, nearly falling. "That's my line, you know. Look." Regaining his footing, he gestured dismissively with one hand. "I think we all kinda had it in the back of our minds, anyway. Even Micky, who's completely daft sometimes, I swear. Just 'cuz he kinda led us to the conscious conclusion doesn't mean we think any less of you. I mean, I just made fun of you for bein' a girl, and you're not tryin' to kill _me._"

"I wasn't ready for you guys t'know yet," she muttered.

"But we do. Now, you're not gonna let a years-long friendship with someone go to waste 'cuz of one little mistake, are you?"

The answer came surprisingly easy to her, and it hurt to realize: "I don't know yet."

—-

The more days that passed, the more Micky lost hope that he could ever win back Sugar's trust. They were on speaking terms, but something was different between them to the point where he realized how badly he'd failed as a friend and as a confidant. Worse, it had all been for a laugh that hadn't really mattered anyway.

"If I could take it all back, I would," he told Peter. "I wouldn't have told you guys. I didn't think she'd get mad."

They sat out on the beach. The blonde was building a sand castle, which looked more like a lumpy mountain than any sort of palace Micky had ever seen. Still, the curly-haired drummer stuck enough leaves into it so that it kind of looked like it had flags here and there.

"Sometimes things seem harmless, but they really aren't," Peter said unhelpfully.

"…I mean, you've got a major crush on her. How would you fix this?"

Peter blushed, and his work on the castle abruptly ceased. "Er… I don't… Micky, I wouldn't have told you guys something that she told me in confidence, so I don't know."

Deflating, Micky sighed. "Oh."

"I don't really think she's comfortable with the fact that I _like like_ her, either," Peter went on, shyly. "So, um. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell her that I still do? Please?"

"But I think everyone knows already," Micky said. "We all kinda have it in the backs of our minds… I just assumed…"

"Please?"

Biting his lip, Micky nodded. "Look, I gotta go for a walk, okay? If you see Sugar, just… Tell her I was lookin' for her."

"I will, Mick."

—-

The more time that passed, the less awkwardness existed between herself and Micky. She knew things would get back to normal eventually, but it sure was taking a lot of time. It did make her feel a little better that he seemed to be having the same trouble she did, which was getting over that final hurdle that would miraculously make them friends again. Maybe there wasn't one. Maybe they were doomed forever to this awkward quasi-friendship until one of them moved out.

She wasn't sure she liked that.

One night, she sat in the driver's seat of the Monkeemobile, listening to the radio, when the same song came on that made her cry almost a full month prior. This time, she chuckled, realizing how stupid it was to get all worked up over something that the other guys already knew anyway. So she had moments of complete, inexplicable sensitivity. So music and bumper stickers sometimes made her weepy. She was a girl, and she had every right to own every aspect of that!

At just that moment, Micky opened the passenger door and jumped in. His face held the most earnest, sweet, sincere expression she'd ever seen on it, as he held out a single flower. It was so close to her face that she had to cross her eyes to see it.

"I'm sorry I'm a jerk, just hear me out, okay?" Micky said, before she could even say a word. "I talked to Peter this one day, and then I went to the library — I dunno how I ended up there, but I read this book, and it said— " He pulled the flower back, and Sugar could see that it was a yellow rose. "It said that these were used to show friendship, and I couldn't… I couldn't really think of anything else to do to show you that I care, and that I'm really, _really_ sorry, so… So I stole this from Mrs. Grey's garden. And I think she's looking for me."

He pushed the rose into her hand, and slid down in the seat until he was almost on the floor. A moment later, an angry older lady rushed past, obviously looking for something.

Or someone.

As he sat there uncomfortably, he continued talking, his green-hazel eyes watching the old woman's every move. "And I figured, you know the song? Yellow rose of Texas? I know it's dumb, but… Sugar, can we be friends again?"

When Mrs. Grey finally passed, he pushed himself up in the seat, until he was sitting more comfortably. As he breathed deeply in relief, he stared out the front window. Sugar took the opportunity to lean over and kiss him on the cheek, after which, he turned the most delightfully bright shade of red she'd ever seen.

Since she'd become a woman, she realized a few things. Peter was completely comfortable with the change. Davy could appreciate her beauty, despite the fact that she used to be a man. Mike considered himself her brother. But Micky… Micky still thought of her as one of the guys. And she'd just kissed him.

He leaned away from her, eyes wide. "I— What— " he managed, rubbing his cheek. "I'm not— really — "

"We're even," she said, smirking.

His incredulous expression quickly became one of relief. He reached out for the flower again, and tucked it behind her ear. Taking her hand, he said, "Shug, I'm sorry. Really. I know you're still gettin' used to all this, and it was really insensitive. But believe me, if I could undo it, I would. You're … I know you don't like to hear this anymore, but you're still Michael, and that means you're still my best friend. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Unable to help it, she got a little teary.

He smiled and said, "This time, I won't tell. Promise."

Reaching across the front seat, she pulled him into a hug.


	12. Just Forget It

Everyone knew that Mike had a bit of a problem with the relationship between Sugar and Peter. Hell, Sugar herself had a problem with it at first, too. But thanks to the first couple weeks of her independent existence being less than stellar, she'd resolved months ago to _move on._ However, it seemed that her brother hadn't quite gotten to the point where he saw himself and Sugar as separate entities just yet.

To be fair, he wasn't the one who had to go through an identity crisis and come out still cognizant on the other side of it all. Sugar could have completely shut herself down and let the world go on around her, but she was stronger than that, and she knew Michael was, too. Oddly, though, she found herself for the first time in a position to do what her brother had done for her, and pull him out of the deep well of existential turmoil… and had no idea how to make that happen.

She stood on the second floor balcony with Peter, leaning on the wall with her arms crossed. Peter sat on the floor, looking down at Mike, who was sitting on the couch, back turned to them. He'd been like that for hours.

"You're not… uh. You know. You don't… You aren't ashamed of what we, uh… did? Are you?" Peter asked her.

Smiling, Sugar shook her head. "Nah. Look. It happened. I kinda had a feeling it would eventually. But Mike still kinda sees me as an extension of himself, so…"

"You are, kinda."

She shrugged. "I was. I still have all his memories 'til a certain point, but after that, we're different people. And the farther away I get from that point, the more it feels okay to just be me. That make sense?"

"Yeah, it does."

"So no, Peter. I'm not ashamed. I don't think Mike is, either, just a little embarrassed. And, I mean, I… It ain't right that he found out like he did. We shoulda told 'im."

She bit her lip, looking at the floor. Honestly, she would have felt the same way if their roles were reversed. Really, it was Mike's own fault for being too sleepy to pay attention to Peter's tie on the door, but she still felt awful about it.

The blond narrowed his eyes, one side of his lip curling a little in confusion. "That's not the same thing? Ashamed and embarrassed?"

"Nah, it ain't." Sugar sat down next to him, her cheeks reddening as she smiled. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Peter nodded.

"You were my first."

"You mean, since you became a girl."

A moment passed, and, still smiling, Sugar shook her head. Peter's eyes widened. "You mean, Michael is a— "

She nodded.

"Wow."

"Him and me ain't exactly … open with people, you know? We always found some reason to push girls away. It never quite got to a point where I was comfortable … er… Taking it to another level. It's hard for me to put into words, but… I get what he's feelin' right now. I mean, if he sees me as just another part of himself, then…"

Peter winced.

Below them, Micky threw a pillow at Michael's head.

—-

The next day, Michael still hadn't come to terms with it, but at least he wasn't staring at nothing anymore. He was more or less functional, although he couldn't seem to look Sugar or Peter in the eye, and certainly couldn't talk to them about it - or anything at all, really. That morning, when Peter asked him to pass the cereal, he'd made some excuse about having to go outside and check on how the lawn was doing, announcing this to everyone present, before running off to do just that.

In the back of his mind, he drew a parallel to the first few days after Sugar had arrived. Certainly this wasn't quite the same fear and trepidation she felt, but it had its similarities. Just as she'd been awakened then by a proverbial bucket of cold water to the face, Michael was finally starting to realize how different they were - and that they could never, ever be the same people ever again.

Funny how he pushed her into that, and now here he was, trying to hold onto that connection. _You're Michael Nesmith,_ he'd wanted to tell her. _What the hell are you doing!? Why are you doing this to me?_

But she wasn't anymore. Not even a little.

Over the next few days, every time one of them approached him, he'd find an excuse to be elsewhere.

Until disaster struck. Well, a minor disaster, but still. It warranted some sibling bonding time, and Michael had no choice but to answer the call, least of all because he'd practically caused the crisis. With Davy and Micky trying to acquire discount groceries (which meant begging the local markets to sell them slightly wilted veggies and slightly stale bread at a lower cost so they could still pay their rent) and Peter at the dentist, Sugar tried to talk to Michael again.

And finally lost her temper.

"You know what?" She said to him. He didn't pick up the edge in her voice, since he'd been trying to tune her out. "Just forget it!"

"That's what I've been tryin' ta do!" he returned.

Several seconds later, he heard a crunch, followed by a yelp, followed by a thud. By the time he turned around, Sugar was curled up on the floor, cuddling her hand to her chest, and there was a hole in the wall.

Immediately behind the hole was a support beam.

"Aw, Shug, no…" he knelt down next to her, finally meeting her eyes. They looked genuinely surprised, like she hadn't expected that hitting a wall would hurt. She was also apparently fighting back tears, biting her lip in an effort to keep from crying. "Lemme see…"

"Nnn—aah! Don't touch! No touching!"

She tried to draw away, and for a moment it was a scramble of arms - and legs, since she tried to kick him away - as Mike tried to reach for her hand. Finally, he got hold of her wrist, and literally felt his face drain of color when he saw her fingers. "Shug, this is broken!"

"I figured," she groaned. With this confirmation, she apparently didn't feel the need to hold back her tears anymore.

"Well, Micky an' Davy have the car!" Mike said, unable to help a little panic creeping into his voice. How long were they going to be? How was he going to get Sugar to the hospital?

But Sugar wasn't listening, really. "Ooooh, that was stupid. Shouldn'ta done that." She hissed through her teeth, continuing to grumble unintelligibly with a much thicker accent. Michael got his arms under hers and hauled her to her feet just long enough so that he could sit her down on the couch. She lay back, still cradling her right hand, and he sat next to her on her uninjured side, holding her left.

A few minutes passed in silence. The redness in her face diminished the longer she held still, and she stopped breathing so hard. To his surprise, once she calmed down a little, her eyes looked into his, and she asked, "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I ain't the one with broke fingers."

Grunting, Sugar sat up, opting to lean against Mike's shoulder, instead. "We gotta talk about what you saw sometime."

Sighing, Mike took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Honestly, I saw _me,_ and it freaked me out."

"All this time, you an' I've been tryin' to make me my own person. And I am— Mike, I'm not you anymore. You didn't see you. Y'saw me. Me and, y'know. Peter."

"Yeah, but… If you and Peter… Does that mean _I…_"

"No."

"But…"

"No."

Michael sighed.

"Um." Sugar removed her hand from Mike's shoulder, poking at her black and blue fingers, instead. "Okay, look. You know how when we split, all I could think about was bein' you?"

Mike nodded.

"Well… Now you gotta stop… thinkin' about… uh. Bein' me."

Mike rubbed his face, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. I know."

"You agree with me?"

Strangely, he did. What Sugar said was clarifying, making him realize just what he'd been doing – why he was so protective. Anything Sugar did, Mike felt like he was doing by extension in a twisted sort of way. They'd always be part of each other, and connected in a way that no one else would ever understand, but they weren't the same person, no matter how much Mike felt he needed to hold on. "When I lost you, I kinda feel like I lost a piece of me, you know?"

Sugar smiled awkwardly, leaning her head into his shoulder. "I don't think it works that way, Mikey."

"_Mikey?_"

She ignored the inquiry and added, "We have the same memories. Those didn't split in half, s'far as I know, so you ain't missin' nothin'. And Mike, it's hard enough movin' on already, 'cuz I still have you in my head… I don't need you thinkin' you're me, too."

"I know, I know."

She sniffled as she stared at her hand. Mike put his arm around her shoulders and tried to estimate the damage by sight; it appeared that her pinky and ring finger were pretty badly bruised, although the knuckle of her middle finger didn't look too great, either. She wasn't going to be able to play the guitar for a few weeks, but he didn't mention it. No reason to add insult to injury.

Honestly, he couldn't remember why he was so put off in the first place. He should have realized that Sugar had become more than just his clone. Maybe that was the problem - Did Mike actually feel like she was leaving him behind? Was he scared of seeing what she'd become?

A little. But he'd deal with it. "Hey, Shug?"

"Mm?"

"Do you love him?"

Her smile really told him all he needed to know, but she still said, "Yeah, I do. Can I give you some advice, though?"

Mike heard Micky and Davy pull up in the car, and felt a lot more at ease. At least he'd be able to get her to the hospital and get that hand taken care of. "If you're gonna tell me to pay attention next time to the tie on the door, trust me. I've learned my lesson."


	13. Some of Sugar's Blues

Micky had the unfortunate luck of often being the one to find Sugar in one of her moods. He could never be sure if he just had a radar for finding her in such a state, or if she strategically placed herself in such a way as to be found, but find her he did. This time, she'd situated herself in the garage, leaning up against a pile of old newspapers.

It smelled of grease and wet cement. The lingering stench of burnt oil permeated the old structure, almost - but not completely - overpowering a faint hint of rust and steel.

Despite the light pouring in from the open garage door, Micky almost didn't see her. He would have gotten into the Monkeemobile and driven off, completely oblivious, if her ankle hadn't scuffed against the floor. The sound sent him jumping at least three feet in the air. As he leaned against the hood of the car to catch his breath, he realized something really was wrong when she didn't scold him for touching the paint.

Once his heart rate dropped down to normal, he sauntered over to her nest beside the newspapers and crouched down next to her. "What's up, Shug?" he asked.

"I dun wanna be Sugar right now," was her reply.

Sensing she'd need him around for awhile, Micky sat, trying not to think about the dust and grime that would end up on his lightly-colored pants. Some things were more important than clothing. Actually, there were a lot of things that were more important than clothing - namely, everything. Realizing he didn't really care, he scooted around a bit to make himself more comfortable. "Can I ask who you want to be?"

She looked at him, arched one eyebrow, and then went back to looking at the floor. "Can I just be Michael for a little while? Just… For a few minutes. 'Til I sort stuff out in my head."

Micky didn't say yes or no. He knew for a fact that Sugar was over all this identity crisis stuff - at least where it came to everyday goings-on. She'd fully embraced her new self, from wearing a dress now and then to kissing Peter without any hesitation or embarrassment. Something serious really had to occur to shake her. To that end, he asked, "What happened?"

She took a deep breath, unfolded her arms, and produced a black box. She popped it into Micky's hand.

"Peter… He… Uh. Anyway, I kinda ran off with it without giving him an answer."

Micky carefully opened the lid. The ring inside wasn't anything special, but it was pretty. Not flashy - just how Sugar would have wanted it - but also not particularly expensive, which would appeal to Sugar's frugal side. They certainly had no money to waste. In short, the tiny piece of jewelry with the pretty little diamond sitting atop was nothing short of perfect.

Holding back the urge to throw his arms around her and congratulate her, Micky quietly closed the box again. "Um. Well, if you're bein' Mike right now, let's have a talk. Guy talk. Man to man."

"All right," she said.

"Have you two had sex?"

"Yeah— " she started too quickly, eyes widening when she realized what she'd admitted to. For a moment, she looked like she was about to hit him, then her shoulder slumped. "Y'all already _know that._ S'much as we tried ta… You know. Hide it. Anyway, that ain't polite conversation, Mick."

"Guy talk."

He loved that her accent got thicker when she was embarrassed.

"Right, guy talk," she repeated, curling into a tighter ball. "Weirdest guy talk I've ever had."

Pouting, she puffed her hair out of her eyes, looking away, as if the conversation were over. Micky waited, though. He was patient; curiosity would draw her back in.

Finally, she asked, "So what if we have?"

He shrugged. "Isn't that the hard part? I mean, about bein' a girl and all. Getting used to… seeing things from the other perspective." Despite himself, he did feel his cheeks burning. Honestly, he never quite stopped thinking of Sugar as a second Michael Nesmith, even if she'd become her own unique being. So to have this discussion with one of his very best friends in girl form did cause him some discomfort.

She seemed to notice, because she offered him a pat on the shoulder and a smile. His question seemed to break the tension and he sighed, relieved, and leaned his head on her shoulder. Eventually, she answered. "I kinda think of all these ties to my old life as strings, you know? I mean, I can picture 'em, in my head. I actually get a legal name change - snip, there goes one string. I let April do my make up. I do my own make up…" She paused, drawing her hand up, then down, as if chopping through something. "There goes another couple. I fall in love with a man…" Sighing, she rubbed at her face. "This is different. It's more than just cutting a single string - it's a whole lot of 'em. I do this, and there's just no going back, Micky. Doin' this, it means… It means I'm a girl, and it means I'm lettin' go of Michael Nesmith. And lettin' go of _me_ scares me more than anything."

"He really loves you, Sugar."

She nodded.

"I've never seen a man love someone as selflessly as Peter loves you. You're telling me you'd go back if you had the chance?"

"No," she answered easily. "It's not about wanting it. It's about realizing that you're about to push yourself further into a new reality. Bein' Mike… Well, that's my security blanket. It's somethin' I can fall back on when things get confusing. If I say yes to this, it's… It's just another admission that I'm Merrabeth Nesmith, and that Mike's part of her, not the other way around."

"So … " Micky held the box out to her again, contemplating. "There's something else buggin' ya."

She didn't answer. Pushing him upright until she could lay her head on his shoulder instead of the other way around, Sugar continued her silence for a long time. Every once in awhile, when she'd breathe, she's sniffle, but Micky pretended not to notice. "I really love him, you know?" she finally said, voice barely audible. "I can't think of any other answer than yes, but I still… I'm not done bein'…"

"You remember when we met?" Micky said. He knew she desperately needed to be Michael just one last time. "Back before we had a band, really? It was just kind of an idea."

She exhaled sharply - a quiet laugh. "I remember how insistent I was on playin' the guitar. I gotta play the guitar."

"Yeah, and how you stuck me with the drums 'cuz Davy had a nicer face."

"Well, he does," Sugar said, teasing. "And he oughtta be the front man."

They talked for hours about every little thing. Their past, their hurts and triumphs, their constant lack of any ability to pay their rent on time. Their conversation covered years, and oftentimes Sugar would re-live Michael's past, back in Texas before she came to meet the other guys. She talked about her first love with naive affection, and a hard breakup with a woman who wouldn't take no for an answer. Then, she told Micky about how she made the decision to spend what was left of her money to get to California, so she could be a success and take care of her family. She spoke with fondness about the three best friends she could have ever hoped to find, and then…

"One night. A couple years ago. I woke up and I wasn't Michael anymore."

A silence descended on the garage as Micky contemplated the entire life he'd just heard, from the woman who no longer belonged to it. It hurt to hear, because it was all his fault.

But she wasn't done.

Still speaking as if she were Michael, she said, very quietly, "I don't know what happened to me after that. I don't know what I'm thinking, or what I'm feeling…"

Her voice was so monotone, so flat and dead.

She still held the black box tightly in her hand, fingers rubbing over the soft, velvet-like surface. It would have been a happy moment for any woman, but Sugar Nesmith wasn't just any woman, and never would be. She'd always have someone else inside her head - someone who fought for control of a life which long ago ran off in a completely different direction. Michael would always be there - trapped, unable to escape, always at odds with what he'd become. She'd battled her way this far, though, and found happiness in her experiences. Micky could see it in her face. Her demeanor. But when he looked into her eyes, he still saw an indescribable desolation buried deep, deep down where no one could reach it except the person who had to bear its burden.

Maybe Peter thought she was ready for this next step.

Maybe Sugar herself thought she was ready for it.

Micky reached out for her hand, closing her fingers around the box. "You can keep this until you sort things out, you know. Peter's not gonna be offended or anything."

She smiled. Micky was surprised to see how genuine it was - how it reached her eyes, and seemed to light up the garage. "We already both know I'm gonna say yes, Mick. It's what I want." Sugar closed her eyes, holding the box to her heart, breathing deeply. "Did you have to go somewhere?"

"Oh, just drivin' around. Why?"

"Can you just stay here with me for a little while longer? I got a whole past that needs sayin' goodbye to again."

He put his arm around her.

And they stayed there, on the cold, dirty garage floor, until everything was okay.


	14. Slightly Bad Timing

It all felt too homey. Too personal. Nothing like the place she was used to back on the beach in Malibu, with people coming and going at all hours. But when it became abundantly clear that there would be a new addition to their family, Sugar and Peter had to surrender and move out of the pad, lest the baby's bedroom end up in the garage or something.

After she got married and got over her hang-ups, things seemed to be going well. Gigs came regularly, and while they all still made a meager living, Sugar and the boys managed to boost themselves out of abject poverty. She'd barely had time to become comfortable with life again, when the cosmos tossed her another curve ball.

At least moving out hadn't been a difficult affair. Babbitt had another rental property, away from the beach and just down the street, which Peter took care of securing while Sugar worked herself out of a miniature breakdown. Like anything that came her way, though, she soon got used to the idea, and even happy about the fact that she would soon be a mother. She took Michael's slightly embarrassed, brotherly looks in stride, and graciously accepted Micky's good-natured ribbing. Davy was ecstatic over the whole thing, and Peter was painfully adorable and optimistic about being a father. Their help meant the world; Sugar wouldn't have been able to get through it without them.

But she still missed living with the other boys. They were her connection to her past life, during which none of what she was going through now would have even been remotely possible. Having completely split from her brother into a separate person, though, Sugar Nesmith found herself with all Michael's memories and a good deal of his appearance, too, except for the fact that she was female.

At fault? Micky Dolenz.

It was a night she'd never forget, actually. Micky's idea of a grand experiment was mixing a bunch of chemicals together and dropping the result into her soda, with the idea that the concoction would boost her confidence. Back then, though, she wasn't a she at all. Back then, Sugar was Michael, and unbeknownst to him, he became Micky's unwilling guinea pig, and woke up the next morning as the wrong gender.

It didn't stop there, though. Instead of fixing things, Micky's replacement mixture, meant to put everything back to normal, split poor Michael into a male version and a female version of himself.

"And you ain't _ever_ gonna know _that,_" she muttered to the unborn baby. With a little bit of resignation and a whole lot of pride, she looked down at her stomach, which, eight months into a pregnancy, was very hard to ignore. Smiling softly, she gave her soon-to-be son a pat, and went about unpacking hers and Peter's few belongings. Staying busy kept her mind off of certain things, like the fact that she shouldn't be capable of having a child in the first place. The more she dwelt on that, the guiltier she felt. After all, despite her conflicting feelings, she already loved the kid more than she could possibly express.

It also kept her mind off the fact that for the first time since this new chapter in her life started, she was alone. The four boys had a well-paying show to play a hundred miles north, and as a housewarming present, they were giving Peter half of what they earned. Thankfully, Micky would be driving home with their gear a day early, and when he called earlier, Sugar made him promise to stop by.

Certain things kept happening to her, though, that kept her worried in the back of her mind. Pains and the like, which she hadn't had earlier, started occupying all her attention. Blaming it on anxiety, and reminding herself that the baby's birthday was still almost a whole month away, she ignored what she hoped weren't warning signs, and continued gently placing her belongings in some semblance of order around her.

—-

Despite the fact that it was nearly midnight when he pulled into the driveway, and regardless of the fact that he could have easily fallen asleep at the wheel at any time during his drive, Micky didn't mind at all that he'd promised to check on Sugar. Since Michael was his best friend, Sugar was, too, by default, and not only that, but he felt responsible for her. Granted, she and Michael were related by blood, but Micky considered himself her younger, slightly crazier brother. He'd do anything for her, even if it was just reassuring her that everyone would be back soon.

It used to be that he could just walk into her house, but of course, that's when they all lived together in the two-bedroom place on the beach. This time, he had to knock. And wait. And wait.

He knocked again. "Shug? Sugar?" he called. "You in there?"

Weakly, her voice came from the other side of the door. It could have literally broken his heart if such things were possible. "Mick? I'm not ready for this!"

He chuckled a little. "Sure you are. C'mon, we've been over this. It's — "

Micky was cut off as she threw the door open, and completely silenced by the look of terror on her face. "I dunno what to do!" she wailed.

Clearly, something wasn't right here. Not only did Sugar appear to be completely panicked, but she was sweating, her hair thrown back into a messy ponytail. The hollows around her eyes were far too dark, and she'd been crying. As she stood there, she grimaced, gritting her teeth and breathing heavily as if in pain.

Caught off guard, Micky's first reaction was to speak before thinking. "No. No, no, no. Shug, you stop that right now!"

Her look of terror turned into one of incredulity as she stared at him with wide eyes, and actually managed a chuckle. "Mick, I think I'm…"

"If you don't say it, it's not true!" Oh, how he wanted to cover his ears and pretend he hadn't just walked into this, with Michael and Peter a hundred miles away. He was only marginally comforted by the fact that he couldn't have possibly been as frightened as Sugar. "Okay. Okay, get it together, Micky. Uh. You're not due yet."

"Tell _him_ that. He's about to make an early entrance."

Micky reached forward and took her hand. She was so warm that he couldn't help thinking it all didn't feel right. Usually, his instincts tended to guide him well enough, so he decided to go with his gut instinct on this one. "Didja try to call Pete?"

She nodded. "Left a message at the front desk of the hotel. He's out. So's Mike and Davy."

"Okay, let's get in the car."

He turned toward the Monkeemobile, but Sugar tightened her hold on his hand and dug in her heels. When he turned around, her eyes spoke louder than words could.

"Hey. It's gonna be all right, but I think we need to go. Right now."

"I'm not supposed to— I mean, this isn't supposed to happen to me," she squeaked.

Sometimes, speaking from his heart worked out for him in rare occasions. Thankfully, this was one of those times. "But it is, Shug," he said gently. And that's all she needed to hear.

—-

She couldn't stop shaking all the way to the hospital. When they finally reached it, she very nearly gave them her old name. Thankfully, Micky had calmed down enough to intervene, although Sugar's temper seemed to be degrading at an ever increasing rate. Honestly, she didn't _mean_ to take it out on Micky.

But this _was_ is fault.

When she said as much, one of the nurses congratulated him, and said that a lot of women tended to get angry at their husbands around this time. That only made her angrier. _Didn't they understand?_ Didn't they realize!? "He ain't— " was all she managed before sinking into another round of pain. By the time the contraction was over, she discovered that she was on a gurney, and they were pulling her along. Probably to wait. To wait, right? It couldn't be happening _now._ She wasn't ready.

"Not ready," she muttered. "He's not ready yet."

But they weren't paying attention. And moreover, Micky didn't seem to be correcting anyone on the whole 'husband' error.

Why was she so warm?

Was this normal?

Suddenly, lights everywhere. There were people around her that she recognized as doctors and nurses, but she couldn't see Micky anymore. Everyone was chattering as she was gripped by pain again; when she finally found her voice, she practically screamed over them, "Where's Micky!?"

He appeared next to her, wearing a yellow gown from head to toe. She only recognized him by the curls that stuck out from the silly little hat on his head.

He reached for her hand.

She took a swing at him, and felt a satisfying thud as her fist connected. "Your. Fault. Goddammit!"

As the nurses reached for her arms to prevent her from getting to her feet, Micky did the stupidest thing he'd ever done. "Geez, Mike! That hurt!"

Sugar's face couldn't have burned hotter than it was already burning as Micky said, "It's just that… you look so much like… Like your brother…"

One of the doctors said, "Son, are you an idiot?"

His voice sounded distant. One of the closer nurses snapped, "Her blood pressure's dropping."

Something about abrupt. Abrupt? The lights were so bright and colorful. Also, they were loud, which was kind of funny, but at least they seemed to be taking away her pain. She could feel the tightness in her stomach again, but her feet felt cold, or maybe even detached, and right around that point, she closed her eyes. Things were going on around her, and she felt so cold, but there was a constant warmth holding her there, fingers twined with hers and keeping her anchored. Somewhere in the vast nothingness that had become her world, she realized that the warmth was her best friend.

And even when the lights in front of her eyes turned into blackness, she held onto him and knew that everything would be all right.

—-

Awareness crept up on Sugar painfully and quickly. Shifting in the bed, she tried to shut out the noise, but the beeping and hissing wouldn't leave her alone. Why did she hurt so badly?

Her eyes opened just a little. The room was dark and small, which prevented her from getting her bearings. As she tried to orient herself, Micky's face appeared above hers. "Shug? You awake?" he asked. "Aw, geez, you scared me."

She tilted her head a little. Only one of his eyes was open; the other was swollen shut. The memory of her altercation with him trickled back into her consciousness. But why…?

He smiled.

"The baby…" she started.

"Is fine. In the NICU. Uh, there were some problems, but you're gonna be okay, and so's she."

"She!"

Micky's grin broadened. "Yeah, congrats, mom. It's a girl. You'll be able to see her, soon, I think. They still think I'm the dad, so they're tellin' me everything. They're gonna be surprised when Peter gets here."

"You coulda corrected them," Sugar said. She wanted to see her little girl immediately, but she was so tired, and she didn't want to rush things if there was the slightest chance that something could be wrong. So she'd wait. Impatiently.

"Nah, if I'd said I was just your best friend, they woulda kicked me out. I kinda felt like you didn't want to be alone."

"Sometimes you're more insightful than I give you credit for."

He sat beside her on the bed, and immediately lay down next to her. She was too over the moon to really lecture him about this inappropriate closeness, but she still managed, "Mick, what have I told you about personal space?"

He remained quiet on the matter, and she managed to scoot over a little so that they could both lay on the small bed. It caused a fresh stab of pain, which prompted her to mutter, "No man should ever have to hurt that much."

For awhile, he didn't respond to that, either, and Sugar, enjoying the warmth from Micky's closeness, started to drift off again. But a moment later, he had himself propped up on his elbow, with his face only an inch or two away from hers. She had to cross her eyes to see him, and eventually reached up and gave him a shove to move him to a more comfortable viewing distance. "What, Micky?"

"…Uh. Is. Is Mike still in there?"

Rolling her eyes, she nodded, humoring him.

"I'm really sorry. I… I didn't really think you'd ever have to go through somethin' like this, Michael. If I'd even thought it coulda gone this wrong, I …"

He stopped when she shook her head. "Hey. It's a lot to get used to. But there ain't nothin' to be sorry about anymore. Look, me and Pete— "

"Oh! Oh, I called him! He'll be here!" Excited, he raised his watch in front of his eyes. "Soon, I think. You know, within the next hour or two!"

"Me and Pete," she continued, interrupting and reaching over to shove his arm aside. He turned to look at her again. "We were talkin' at first about what we'd name her if it turned out to be a girl, and we're gonna call her Georgia."

He blinked his one uninjured eye and stared at her, one corner of his mouth twitching upward in a hopeful smile. She couldn't help returning it, adding, "Hey. It _is_ kinda your fault, in a roundabout way. We thought we oughta honor that."

"We have a strange family," he said, lying his head back on the pillow.


	15. Dreamtime

Years later, Mike remembered the Dream.

He always saw it capitalized when he thought of it, as if this thing that happened in his brain - and to his body - was somehow responsible for his life enough that it'd earned that special honor. As he tunelessly plucked at the strings of his guitar, staring blankly at his fingers, he even wondered if maybe he had awakened in the middle of it. Maybe the trauma of it all just caused the memory to hide somewhere deep in his subconscious.

It all started with a question: Who _aren't_ you?

The pain made him want to cry out, but Michael, caught in a web of slumber, couldn't manage more than a few muffled syllables. _Help,_ he demanded, forcing his eyes open to stare at Micky, who slept just across the room. _Help! why can't you hear me?_

Louder, just a little—

The pain spread from his heart, immediately relocating itself to his throat, where he felt as if he were being strangled. Somehow, maybe because of the time that passed since the memory returned to him, Mike knew that his voice was being re-written; the cords that produced his deep baritone were being reconfigured into the alto range. It stung.

And then it moved from his throat toward his face. He tried to call for help again, his stomach dropping when he heard the new sound he was making.

_Make it stop. Please!_

But it pushed at the bones in his face, at the cartilage in his nose, not changing them entirely, but enough so that it felt as if he were being broken.

_God dammit, why can't you hear me?_

His arms. His hands. Attacked by this unseen, creeping force that he couldn't understand or shake off, even though he tried every step of the way. He needed his hands! He needed them to play the guitar—

The pain re-centered in his chest. Maybe instinctively, or maybe because he just understood the other things that already happened, he fought against the change with renewed vigor, but he couldn't quite shake himself out of the sleep. Moreover, his voice was only a whisper against his snoring friend, who slumbered only a few feet away. Everything inside him told him to keep trying, even if he knew it was hopeless, because later, he'd at least be able to tell himself he didn't give up.

No matter how much he called, though, the excruciating sensation moved into his stomach after leaving a weight on his chest where there hadn't been one before.

He was tired. So tired. Managing to open his eyes again, he rolled them upward, trying to will himself to focus on something enough so that he'd wake up. Mike didn't like this dream; it frightened him.

But the pain rearranged his insides without his consent, subtracting and adding, replacing and reforming. There was a horrifying, clarifying moment where he realized - as the pain moved down his legs and toward his feet - that he could no longer call himself a man in any sense of the word. Rather than despair, though, he felt anger. He wanted to thrash in his bed, strike the sleep that had prevented him from fighting against what happened to him. But as the pain dissipated, so did the anger.

Even the memory became fuzzy.

What pain? What?

Somewhere, beckoning from deep within, the voice posited another question: _Can you be one without the other?_

—-

Sugar always had an uncanny talent for breaking guitar strings.

When this one snapped clean in half, though, she was suddenly struck by a memory she didn't even realized she remembered.

The past few days hadn't been good. Consumed with worry - and still calling herself Michael - she could only put all her hopes on Micky's ability to fix the problem and make it all go away. So that night, when the familiar pain started creeping into her chest, she actually felt quite relieved at first.

At first.

But this pain was different. This pain was like someone had taken razor wire and was proceeding to inelegantly saw her in half with it. Unable to realize it then, due to the scream bubbling up in her throat, it wasn't her body that hurt, but the fact that the very essence of herself - the memories, the quirks, her _soul_, was being rent into two completely separate and individual beings. Much like cutting off an arm or a leg, it hurt like hell.

Most terrifying of all, at this point, she actually felt her arms wrap around herself, trying to hold on to a currently-shared body that was going through some horrible supernatural mitosis as it split and mutated into two new wholes. As the physical separation actually happened, her mind swam with bright points of light which blotted out all thought. The torment was awful.

And then she rolled out of the bed and onto the floor, instinctively crawling a few paces even as her brain decided she'd had enough, and shut down entirely.

But not before she heard the male voice - her voice, but not her voice - scream.

—-

Shaken, Sugar reached for the phone, but it was already ringing. She picked it up, trembling, and spoke a clipped "Hello?" into the receiver.

"Shug? It's Mike."

"…Mike. Jeez." She took a couple breaths, realizing that he sounded about the same as she did. "I dunno how else to say it— "

"Did you remember?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. You?"

The other end of the line was silent.

"Mike? You still there?"

Finally, he spoke again. "I'll be over in an hour or so. I ain't ashamed to admit I could use a hug right about now."

The line went dead.

Relieved, Sugar sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Repairing her guitar could wait


	16. A Failure of Vanity

Early into her new existence, Sugar Nesmith learned to affect her dreams.

It happened by accident, when she noticed that her dream self was consistently male. This directly contradicted her reality, in which she'd become quite abruptly _not male,_ and the two distinct lives triggered an odd awakening, in which she could manipulate her subconscious.

_He_ sauntered along a glass dance floor, through which he could see a beautiful, vertical landscape stretching infinitely downward. It always started this way, with the strange scene just out of reach, but entirely visible and possibly accessible, if the cracks in the glass had anything to say about it. As tiny fissures spread outward after each step he made, he looked down, refocusing his eyes and studying the masculine reflection staring back at him. When he smiled, the reflection smiled, too. Sugar reached up and touched the day-old beard starting on his chin, feeling oddly uneasy, even though the face staring back at him felt comfortable and right.

Looking up at the mirror on the wall instead, he began to adjust his tuxedo's lapel, but the sound of the crackling floor below him held all his attention.

If he allowed the glass to break, he'd fall.

Closing his eyes, Sugar stepped forward, affecting reality - as he always did - until he found himself walking along the shore of a deserted island. Sand squished up through his toes as cold water lapped at his ankles, quietly inviting him to enjoy his lucidness. Looking back, he observed the glass-floored hall, which now seemed so very distant… But no matter where he roamed, it would always loom behind him, inviting him back. The first few times Sugar learned to affect his dream, he tried to get rid of the room, but, growing bored with wasting his time on the task, all he could do now was grimace and ignore it.

He turned to walk again, but nearly ran directly into another figure who'd suddenly appeared on the beach.

"Hello!" it said cheerfully.

Stumbling backward, Sugar fell, wincing as the cold ocean water soaked into his swim trunks. Irritated, he narrowed his eyes at the intruder, only to find that its face was familiar. Because they both had the same face. Kind of.

Standing, Sugar asked, "Are you me?"

"Well, I'm your subconscious. So, yeah. I guess I am."

He looked the person up and down, confused. The intruder was the right height. Had most of the right features…

"What's wrong?"

Sugar pressed his lips together, finding that no matter how he tried, he couldn't discern a gender. "I just. Can't tell if you're a boy or a girl is all."

His subconscious rolled light brown eyes, smiled, and gestured to Sugar.

"…Oh."

"Yeah. We got a problem."

"Ain't a problem," Sugar groused, enjoying the sound of his old voice. He started walking again, waving a hand in dismissal. "So I look different in my dream. Anyway, get outta here. I didn't ask you to come bother me."

"Nah, I think I'll follow you around a bit. Annoy you for awhile." Its arms behind its back, the androgynous version of himself hurried to catch up, tromping its way backward in front of Sugar once it had. "You don't think there's issues with you confusing yourself in your own dreams, which are supposed to be a reflection of _you?_ I mean, let's face it, Shug. What I look like is how you actually see _yourself._"

This caused Sugar to stop, and he narrowed his eyes. Still irritated, he deflected the issue by asking, "Well, what do I call you, anyway?"

"Well, I'm you, so you have about a dozen names to pick from at this point. Michael. Sugar. Mary. Merrabeth…"

"Uh-huh. Go on."

"So maybe it wasn't a dozen."

Shoving his way past his subconscious, he continued on down the beach. For a little while, it was silent; he had hopes that the intruder was gone, when its voice said, "How 'bout some gender-neutral name, like Jamie?"

"I don't like breakin' the fourth wall," Sugar muttered. "Look, you." Pointing to himself, he curled his lip a little. "You see this? This is always gonna be me. I can't change who I am inside, even if I'm gonna look different when I wake up. Let me have a little peace and enjoy it."

"Oooohkay, let's just call me Heart, huh?"

Sugar rolled his eyes. "What kinda name is that?"

"I dunno. You came up with it, technically speaking." Heart shrugged, walking along next to Sugar. "So, is this who you are, or just who you think you're supposed to be?"

"What's the difference?"

Heart reached out and grabbed his hand. "C'mere. We're gonna explore your brain a bit."

Before Sugar had the chance to protest, Heart pulled him off the secluded beach and directly into the pad.

It was sometime in the middle of the night. As Sugar's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a girl lying in his bed, tossing restlessly at some unknown nightmare. It only took a moment for him to put two and two together and realize that this was _the night._ The very moment when Micky's foray into science destroyed his entire life.

Before his eyes, the girl split - one half remained in the bed, while the other struggled briefly, then crashed to the floor. They both screamed, before passing out from the stress.

"This is what happens if you had no ability to adapt to your new life. If your entire existence and reason for existing depended on you being a man," Heart said.

"Nah, this is exactly the same. This is where I woke up," Sugar replied.

Stepping forward, Sugar stood over the naked girl on the floor, narrowing his eyes. He wanted to comfort her. Tell her everything would be all right. But when he crouched down to touch her face, his hand went right through. "Oh, I get it," he muttered. "It's some Ghost of Christmas Past thing. Cute."

"I suppose you should probably see this from the passenger seat," Heart said. It seemed almost non sequitur.

Then the apparition placed a foot on Sugar's back and gave a little shove, just enough for him to tumble forward. He tried not to land on the poor, unconscious version of himself, but, already unbalanced, he fell through her, hitting the floor hard and losing his control of the dream.

—-

Pain crept slowly through nerve after nerve until it touched consciousness, and Michael awoke, surprised to find himself on the floor. His head hurt so terribly that even though he heard someone shouting and carrying on nearby, the voice was drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Slowly, wakefulness sharpened his senses, and he realized that he was still female.

Crushed, he questioned the air: "Why didn't it work? Why am I still like this?"

Still confused about how he'd ended up on the floor - and, he noticed, without his clothes - he pulled his knees up to his chest, dejected. Someone, probably Micky, sat down in front of him and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. Trying not to pay attention to the too-high timbre of his voice, Michael said, "It didn't work, Micky. You tried, but it didn't work."

They'd try again, though. They'd try again, and again, and again until they got it right. There would be a way.

Until he heard three very disturbing, very familiar words. "I'm not Micky."

Michael looked up, and for one odd, disconcerting moment, he was sure he was looking at a mirror. But no - instead, he was staring at a real live walking, breathing, thinking, male version of himself.

At that moment, he shut down.

He couldn't accept it.

Couldn't process the reality of it.

Somehow, they led him downstairs. Someone put a shirt on him. The whole while, he saw white, and his ears buzzed whenever anyone spoke. A world stretched out before him, one of lost opportunities and destroyed dreams.

In the back of his mind, he heard a voice. _It's not like that. It's not that bad._

But it was. So many doors would be closed to him now. No one would take him seriously as a musician or an intellectual. It wasn't as if he agreed with society's view on women, but the view existed nevertheless, and now he was all part of it. Even his bandmates would look at him differently. And Michael was afraid.

_You have your friends! Why are you doing this to yourself?_

He couldn't wrap his mind around it. For so many years, he'd held back so much anger and rage, but he couldn't allow this to happen. Couldn't allow himself to be trapped within this situation. Not without a fight.

But there was nothing left to fight. It was over. The person he wanted to be already existed, sitting next to him on the couch, talking to the others as if nothing was wrong.

Very deliberately, he stood, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed a chair. Someone asked him what he thought he was doing, but he didn't answer. Instead, he positioned the chair under a particular light fixture, and received the hatchet they kept there.

For emergencies.

The others stared at him, fearful. It made him sad that they didn't trust him. Michael would never hurt them, but the world, the universe that did this to him, that would have to pay. He'd hack it to pieces until it couldn't support itself anymore, then it could collapse and drag him down with it, and he wouldn't have to feel so utterly ruined.

The little tool didn't have quite enough leverage to levy the damage that he wanted to create, but it would do. A noise bubbled up in his throat - some sort of strangled wail that he'd never heard before, as he brought the hatchet down on the couch, feeling a satisfactory release as it cleaved through leather, and got stuck in the inner framework. Raising the small axe, he slammed it down again and again, cutting hole after hole in what used to be their best piece of furniture.

Then, he turned to the nearest wall.

The hatchet seemed much better suited at cutting through the plaster and splintering the beams just behind. By this time, the others were screaming at him to stop, but it felt so good to obliterate the very world that had unfairly birthed him.

Just a little more. Just a little longer.

Heading to the kitchen, he kicked over the table, swinging the axe at its one central leg until it was too destroyed to support the weight of its base. As it cracked and bent, he picked up one of the chairs in his free hand, spun around, and heaved it in the direction of the bay window, where it collided with the drum kit. The hi-hat cymbal toppled, landing against the bay window and cracking it.

A crack wasn't enough. He'd been broken. Everything else had to break, too.

Grabbing another chair, Michael barreled toward the bandstand. He could hear the others begging him to calm down, but their voices all mingled together and made so little sense that it was easy to push them away and ignore them completely. They only existed at the very edge of his consciousness at the moment. Unimportant.

Close enough to touch the window now, he threw the chair clean through it, and glass shattered everywhere, biting into him. He walked through it, picking up shards in his bare feet.

There was no pain.

But he bled. He saw it out of the corner of his eye.

Brandishing the axe again, he hacked through Blondie - his beloved guitar. For only a moment, he felt a stab of regret, but something was driving him on. Something was making him continue. He had to prove what a huge travesty the cosmos had committed.

Done with the weapon now, Michael dropped it, picked up Peter's bass, stepped off the bandstand, and smashed it against their jukebox. Then he did it again, and again, and again, shattering the records within.

_STOP! You have to listen to me!_

Now that he no longer had a weapon, one of the boys wrapped his arms around him from behind, pinning Michael's arms to his sides. He struggled, feeling more arms around him as he did so. Finally, he was wrestled to the floor, trapped in a dogpile, and sense started to return, creeping into his mind at a trickle.

When their detached voices started to resolve into words, he relaxed. For a long time, nobody moved, then, Peter asked, "Michael, can we let you up now?"

He couldn't respond. He didn't know.

"Mike?" Peter prompted again.

"I'm okay now," he finally said, startled at the hoarseness of his voice. He realized he must have spent the whole time screaming.

The boys cautiously sat back, keeping the boy-turned-girl in the center of them. Once he was free, he realized how tired he was now that the burst of adrenaline was used up. Looking around, he also realized the damage he'd caused, and could only turn his eyes to the floor in response to it.

But he was aware of the others. His clone. Peter. Davy.

Turning to look behind him, he met Micky's eyes. The drummer was crying, defeated. "Mike. Mike, I'm so sorry. I thought it would work. We did everything right. But— But you were worrying about the whole stayin' a girl thing, and…"

"I can't do this," the girl said. "I … I need you to …" He grabbed at his hair, fingers twining through it until they were tangled.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he turned to find a very concerned mirror duplicate of himself sitting there, eyes wide, understanding. He took Michael's hand and pressed something into it. A handful of somethings. Chalky, round.

Enough.

He nodded.

—-

Feeling an uncomfortable tug, Sugar found himself being pulled from his alternate version by Heart.

Disturbed, he backed away from the circle on the floor, eyes wide, mind racing as he continued to watch the scene in front of him. Peter was crying. Davy was yelling at both Michaels.

Sugar just looked at his hand. The house around them faded as he took control of the dream again, bringing them back to the quiet island, completely isolated from the rest of the world. More importantly, away from the disturbing vision he'd just been forced to observe.

"What'd he give you?" Heart asked.

"Don't know exactly. I have a feeling it would have ended a couple horses, though." As if he were still holding the large amount of medication, Sugar brushed his hands together, looking back at his subconscious, only to find that it was much more clearly female than male now.

Not entirely. But enough so that she was much less androgynous.

"You got a temper," Heart said.

"I can't help who I am," Sugar muttered. "I can't help that I look like _this_ when I dream."

"But you're getting it now, aren't you? You're starting to question it. The whole _why_ aspect." Smiling, Heart tapped her head, did a half-pirouette on the sand, and stepped into the ocean. She crossed her arms, looking out over the water. "I'm not trying to change you, Sugar. I can't do that. I mean, you are who you are. And I'm the part of you that just wants you to be happy."

Sugar offered a half-smirk, also stepping into the water. "I ain't a woman, either. And before you show me what I'd be like if I was, let me just create a picture for you." Holding his hands in front of him as if looking through the viewfinder of a movie camera, he said, "Picture me, dancing along a stripmall in a miniskirt so I could drag all my best gal friends into store after store, where we'd buy purses and shoes and then we'd all go home and do each others' hair."

Heart arched her eyebrows. "Is that all a girl is to you?"

Sugar closed his eyes, sighing. Turning, he looked back at the glass-floored room again, looming as close as it had ever been. "No," he finally said. "It's not."

"Then why do you think if you let yourself be a woman, that's all you're ever going to be? Can't you still be _you?_"

Clearly, his life didn't depend on being male. Heart's dizzying perspective made him realize that very clearly. Sure, when it happened, he'd been distressed beyond reason, but the whole time he wallowed in terror, he felt something else. Hope. And the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind as to how he was going to make this work.

Heart smiled, reaching out to take his hand again. "C'mon. Let's go break through your barriers."

She led him back toward the glass room. As they approached it, the floor seemed to flow around them, obscuring the safety of the secluded beach, as it became the sole location within the dream. Immediately, the glass began to crack anew under his feet, sending out tiny, lightning-like tendrils in all directions.

Below, an entire world waited for him, but to get to it, Sugar would have to fall through it.

"You can be scared," Heart said. "You're gonna struggle with this for a long time, and that's okay. But you gotta stop kidding yourself. I mean, look at you."

Sugar looked down at himself. Since he stepped off the beach, he was back in the tux again, as the floor continued to crackle beneath him. Even though the tiny white lines, though, he could still catch his reflection, and realized that he'd never really been looking at the male reflection of himself at all. He'd been looking at Michael.

The glass lurched one last time and shattered, causing Sugar and Heart to crash through it. Instead of falling into the infinite space below them, though, they were instantly seated on soft, green grass, and a beautiful blue sky stretched above them.

Automatically, Sugar looked at her subconscious, only to be stunned when she saw her own face looking back at her, right down to every feminine detail.

Her!

Looking down at herself, she realized that she was no longer a copy of her brother. She'd shed the disguise when she fell through the glass.

"How many times do you have to tell yourself the same thing?" Heart asked. "It's not as if you have to conform to these weird standards you've got imagined. How can you be anyone other than yourself? Stop tryin' to hide that pretty face."

Sugar smiled, and sighed. Of course Heart was right. After all - technically - it was Sugar herself saying the words.

Lying back in the grass, she closed her eyes.


	17. Peter's Very Own Crisis

At some point during Sugar's first night of actual individual existence, Peter realized, with some shock and dismay, that he felt almost giddy with happiness.

His mind tended to process Things of a Severely Serious Nature quite slowly at the best of times, but in this case, the realization that he was taking joy in the face of someone else's misery and abject terror smacked him upside the head like a baseball bat. Probably because he couldn't bear to see one of his very best friends so utterly torn. Also, Peter suddenly found it difficult to think of Sugar as "Michael," since they'd become two completely separate beings.

And yet, with enough effort on his part, he recognized her plight, acknowledged that he still felt over-the-moon with elation, and also felt like the world's biggest heel at the same time. He felt as if the mere thought of being happy - maybe even with _her_ - meant that he was committing some horrible crime against both Sugar and her brother, Michael. Poor Mike! He'd been so miserable just a couple days prior! How could it be so easy to forget that those feelings - those very memories - still existed inside Sugar's head?

Why, why, _why_ was he so stupid?!

Days passed, and Peter continued to see a mirror image of his selfishness in everything she did. Sugar hurt worse than he'd ever witnessed another human being hurting. She raged. She yelled and screamed and fought with everyone else in the house at least once.

She cried.

One day, when he looked at Michael, he even felt the calm gladness rear its ugly head again as his brain tried to tell him that everything was put right. He knew he had limited capacity to _understand_ certain things, but surely he should be able to wrap his mind around the fact that things still remained very, very wrong! Again, he felt selfish and ashamed, because he couldn't shake the upbeat _hope_ that warmed his heart. Meanwhile, the very target of his affections continued to wallow in her own cesspool of loathing, tailor-made just for her very unique situation.

Unable to process the clearly opposing emotions, Peter, on one cloudy Saturday afternoon, stopped what he was doing and pressed his forehead against his bedpost. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he could get just enough leverage to push himself back and fall forward again, each time striking the post with an obvious '_tng, tng, tng_' sound. Perhaps, if he kept at it long enough, his feelings would just go ahead and sort themselves out, and all the confusion would leak out through his ear.

Hopeful, he turned his head to one side, while he continued to strike his head against the post.

_tng, tng, tng._

And he chanted, "No, no, no, no" over and over out of the necessity to hear something that made sense. _No_ seemed like a safe choice.

"You want to tell me what's botherin' you, Peter?"

Feeling his mattress shift a little, Peter tilted his head just enough to that he could glance back at Davy, who now sat at the foot of his bed. With a sigh, the blond smacked his head against the post one last time, then turned his eyes to the wall. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Not surprised," Davy chuckled. "What with all the rattling around that must be goin' on in your skull right now. What on earth are you doing?"

"Thought it'd help me think." Peter slumped his shoulders, gaze still fixed on the slight textured ridges in the old paint. Maybe the cracked surface would reveal an answer to him, like divining a fortune from tea leaves; then again, maybe he'd just end up getting a headache from going cross-eyed. Either option was a better alternative than the war of feelings going on inside his head.

Davy scooted closer, leaning around so he could try to catch Peter's eye. Stubbornly, Peter averted his eyes, only to find that by some twist of fate, he now saw Davy's reflection in a slightly askew desk mirror. Amused, the English boy smirked. "C'mon. This isn't like you," he said. "You've been all mopey. It's weird. Where's that sunshine?"

Sticking out his lip in a pout, Peter angled his head so that he was facing the real Davy, and not the mirror image. "I'm happy Mike split."

Davy raised his chin ever-so-slightly, eyebrows arching in surprise. Almost immediately after, the expression turned incredulous. "Well, if you're happy, you have an odd way of showin' it, mate."

"Yeah, well, I also feel guilty for being happy."

"Ooooh," Davy muttered in a long, drawn-out syllable. "So there's the heart of the matter. Move over, huh? And turn around. Smackin' your head isn't gonna solve anything."

Peter shifted to one side and turned to face the other way, leaning against the headboard. Davy crawled up on the bed and sat next to him. Even then, Peter didn't feel like talking, instead opting to continue pouting, with his arms crossed in front of him. He was pleasantly surprised that Davy just sat, too, neither judging nor offering his trademark Advice On How To Win The Girl speech, because Peter didn't want to hear it. He'd already beat himself up enough, and Sugar was too miserable to worry about being _won_ on top of everything. In the end, Peter just appreciated the company.

Finally, he said, "I wish I wasn't always the dummy."

"We can't help how we feel," Davy responded. "You met your dream girl. 'Course you'd be happy if she decided to stick around."

"She didn't _decide._ She's sad."

Davy shrugged a bit. "It probably has a lot to do with the fact that Mike's bein' a complete arse to her. He actually said…" Davy paused, clearing his throat, and continued in a mockery of Mike's Texan accent: "'Ah am Mahk Nesmith, yew are nawt.' I thought she was gonna deck 'im. Honestly, I did. And Micky… Well, you know Micky. He loves her like a brother. Sister. Whatever. But he's still treatin' her like a science experiment. And you…" he trailed off, looking away.

"Yeah," Peter said, his voice nearly breaking. He hated that he was part of the problem.

"We can't help how we feel," Davy said again. "If it's any consolation, any time I talk to her, she goes all awkward and nervous, 'cuz… Er. I think she's starting to see us guys in a whole new light, and it's botherin' her."

This revelation brought a surge of hope to Peter's already mixed-up emotions, which, in turn, made him feel terrible again. Grumpy, he growled, "You think you're _so irresistible._"

"I can't help it! … That's not _jealousy_ from Peter Tork, is it?"

Drawing his knees up, he crossed his arms and slouched. "No," came the emphatic reply.

Davy smiled, resting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You've really got it bad, don't you? Doesn't it help to think about how, behind those pretty eyes, she's _Mike?_"

Peter sighed and shook his head. "It just doesn't matter to me, I guess. I don't think of her as Michael. Sugar's different. Unique.

"Well," Davy said, giving his friend's shoulder a quick pat. "You know, maybe with all these people treatin' her like she's not her own person, and her own brother wishin' she didn't even exist half the time, a little ray of sunshine like you might be all she needs."

—-

Peter didn't plan to encounter her later that afternoon, but when he finally left his room, Sugar was there, folded up in one of the living room chairs, paging through a car magazine. He couldn't hear anyone else in the house, which was a little strange, considering their residence often violated every major noise ordinance at its _quietest._

The stillness was unnerving.

Stepping past the chairs, he looked out the bay window, squinting down at the water's edge. Though he couldn't make out their faces, he could see three people down near the ocean. "Huh," he said. "They didn't even ask me to go."

"Join th' club," Sugar mumbled, her voice full of repressed irritation.

Pressing his lips together, Peter looked over his shoulder, focusing on the few strands of black hair he could see around the back of the chair. Every few moments, he heard the soft flip of a page being turned. Each time, he felt his heart jump, as the bottom dropped out of his stomach, making him feel slightly ill. He found it impossible to work up the courage to talk to her, considering what he had to say. Even the slightest misspoken word could upset her again, since her current default mood seemed to be one of anger. Because Peter wasn't very good with speaking at all, his hesitance seemed, at least to him, perfectly understandable.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Shug," Peter said.

The magazine slipped closed, after which she turned to peek around the chairback. "Ain't your fault they took off."

"That's not what I mean."

Nervously, Peter tugged at his sleeves, looking at the floor. For one single second, he glanced up to meet her eyes, which seemed more confused than annoyed. Taking a chance, he added, "It's just, I— I can't help being happy you're here. And then I think about that, and… and I remember you're not so happy, so I feel bad, 'cuz I want you to be happy. But you're not, so I think maybe I shouldn't be… happy that you're… here…"

The longer he spoke, the more she narrowed her eyes. His last few words sounded like squeaks under that intense stare, and eventually, he had to look away. Maybe he expected her to smile, or at least say, "Thanks, Peter," but she did neither, and her silence was extremely uncomfortable. He hurried out onto the deck just to escape from it.

He leaned on the rail, putting his head in his hands. Stupid! Why was he so stupid? It didn't make any sense to him why he couldn't just be a little clever like the other guys. On top of all that, he had to do something idiotic, like completely botch the first opportunity he had to talk to Sugar about how he was feeling. Like Davy said, she was already resentful at everyone else, now she could direct her ire at Peter, too. "So much for 'ray of sunshine,'" he sighed.

He couldn't even bring himself to look up at her when she stepped out onto the deck. Hands in her pockets, she stood in silence for a minute or two, looking up at the sky.

"I wanna let you in, Pete," she said.

"But?" he replied.

"No buts. I… I just want to." She leaned next to him, elbows resting on the weathered wood while long-fingered hands draped over into the open air. "First time anyone ever said they were glad I was here, an' I figure now that it's gone and happened, it's better that someone's glad I'm here, rather than wishin' I'd go away."

"For what it's worth, I'm still sorry."

"And you're the only one who always calls me 'Sugar.' Everyone else still wants to call me Mike. Even Mike. An' even when he's tellin' me I'm not Mike."

"Well… Michael's an ass," Peter grunted. When he noticed the amused smirk on Sugar's face, he stammered over a couple syllables, before she silenced him with a chuckle.

"Don't worry. I know what you meant." The smile remained a moment more, before her expression turned weary again. Ever so slowly, her head drooped until her face was resting against the rail. "I dunno what to do, Peter. I might look like a girl, but up in my mind, I'm not. And I can't even play guitar to take my mind off it, 'cuz Mike don't like anyone touchin' Blondie. Even if she _is_ mine!"

Suddenly struck with an idea, Peter excitedly reached out and grabbed her wrist. "C'mon," he said.

She pulled away, her face becoming a mask of belligerent irritation.

This time, though, he was undeterred, and held out his hand again. "Trust me, okay?" He could tell she didn't want to, so he explained. "We're gonna lock Mike out so you can play the guitar for awhile. He and Davy and Micky can just… Well, they can just stay out there 'til you're through."

Her lip twitched. Peter saw the smile in her eyes. She said, "Anyone ever tell you you're a genius?"

Grinning, Peter replied, "There's a first time for everything."


	18. There was Something in the Popcorn

Sugar sprawled on the bed, her head hanging over the edge and causing her to see everything upside-down. Upside-down television, upside down record player. Upside-down April, as she gracefully swept into the room carrying a bowl of popcorn for the late-night movie.

"I don't get you," Shug said, flipping over and propping herself up on her elbows. She scowled a bit, brows leveling over her eyes. "You can wear pajamas and make it look like you're steppin' out of a catalogue. If I try to do two things at once, I fall all over myself."

April set the popcorn down between them, smiling a little awkwardly. This was their first sleepover since April discovered Sugar's secret, and while they'd mended their friendship, things still had a certain air of tenseness. Polite, but still strained, just a little. To that end, Sugar asked, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"Oh, it's okay, dear. It's just… Oh my, I can't even think of the right words."

"Weird?"

"That'll do."

Rolling her eyes, Shug rested her chin on her arms, watching the TV. Every once in a while, she'd glance over at April, who delicately plucked one piece of popcorn at a time from the bowl. Sugar took mental notes; she should probably reconsider shoveling food into her mouth by the handful, since it apparently wasn't very lady-like.

As the movie went on, April started looking more and more _green._

"You okay?" Shug asked, sitting up. Peering into the bowl, she tried to see if something was wrong with the popcorn, but it looked all right.

"Honestly, I've been feeling kind of strange all day. Not quite sick, but now… I don't know. I just…"

Not the least bit graceful now, April practically oozed off the bed, and made a beeline for the bathroom. As the door slammed shut, Sugar stood up, too, grimacing at the sound of retching coming from the other side of the door. Warily, she eyed the bowl of popcorn, picked it up, and carried it down to the kitchen to dispose of it. Honestly, whatever was in those kernels couldn't be good for either of them.

—-

Shug grew more worried as the minutes ticked by. After a quarter hour, she unfolded her long legs from the bed again, and went to stand in front of the door. "April? Uh, you've been in there for a while. You okay?"

No answer.

Frowning, Sugar pressed her ear against the door, only to hear a soft, pained sobbing from the other side. "April? C'mon now. Lemme getcha some tea or somethin'… What calms your stomach?" As she thought about it, she realized she hadn't the slightest idea about how to actually _make_ tea. Maybe she'd have to call Davy. Davy could make tea, right? Tea and biscuits, which were really just 'cookies' spelled wrong. England was a silly place. "April?"

After a sniffle, even the sobbing stopped.

Checking her watch, Shug shook her head. Twenty minutes. Trying the knob and finding the door locked, she bit her lip. On one hand, they only _just_ re-established the trust between them. For months, April assumed that Shug was Mike's _twin,_ and not his clone. When the truth came out, it kind of hurt both of them. The last thing she needed to do was break into the bathroom and find her best friend in any state of undress. Of course, there was the very real possibility that April actually needed help - and, in that case, what kind of friend would Sugar be if she stood out here and did nothing?

Wringing her hands, she stared at the door as if it would give her answers. But the bedroom was silent except for the soft voices coming from the TV.

Another look at her watch revealed that twenty-five minutes had passed. Squaring her shoulder, she looked the door up and down. Solid wood of some sort - not hollow. Not easy to get through. Maybe if she aimed a kick in the right place, she'd be able to get it open? Flexing her knees, she hoped that she still had the same power she had before.

Still not wanting to violate her friend's privacy, she knocked on the door again. "Look, April, if you don't say somethin', I'm gonna break down the door. April?"

Shug backed up, took a deep breath, and muttered, "Okay, you asked for it."

For good measure, she took another step back. Then another. Then another, at which point she tripped over the edge of the bed and fell backward onto it.

Having serious doubts about anyone's ability to actually break down the solid door, she began to re-think her strategy. Micky could pick locks, maybe she could— But what would she pick a lock with? Ah! Finding a fork sitting on April's nightstand, she attacked the lock with it, only to find that it really wasn't going to work well at all. In fact, it may have been the worst idea she ever had. It didn't even fit. Flipping it around, she tried the handle end in the lock, but it wouldn't turn.

Another look at her watch, and she found that she was well past the thirty minute mark. "I don't have time to learn lockpicking," she said, voice raising in volume with each word. "This is an emergency. I'm comin', April!"

She backed up again, and ran into the door at full speed. A moment later, she found herself on the floor with no recollection as to how she'd ended up there. Feeling like the door had run into her, and not the other way around, Sugar staggered to her feet for another go at it, only to find that the door was now open, just a sliver. The door frame was slightly cracked.

Feeling guilty, she approached the frame and ran her fingers over the break. "I'll fix it, don't worry," she muttered to no one. Still concerned, she slowly pushed the door open, peering in to find the room empty.

_Odd._

Narrowing her eyes, Shug slowly tiptoed forward. There were no windows in here - no way for anyone to have escaped, unless April took off in the few minutes Sugar had been downstairs to dump out the popcorn. Possible, but unlikely. After all, where would April have _gone?_ The bedroom was on the second floor, and Sugar would have seen the blonde if she'd run out the front door.

Kind of confounded, and all sorts of worried, she thought that maybe it might be time to call the police. However, as she stood there in the middle of the bathroom, she heard _shivering._

Really, she didn't hear the shivering itself, but the effect it had on the rings holding up April's white, lacy shower curtains. The metal against metal caused the slightest whisper of noise, almost drowned out by the television in the bedroom. "April?" she said quietly, stepping forward to wrap her fingers around the curtains. She had a horrible idea of what she'd see on the other side… Maybe her friend had hit her head. Knocked herself unconscious. Now she had somehow ended up in the bathtub— Oh no. Oh, this wasn't going to be pretty!

Expecting the worst, and having already formed a horrible scenario in her mind, when Sugar pulled back the curtain, the last thing she expected to see was a rather large dog staring back at her. That's exactly what she saw, though. Its front legs were wrapped around its face, as if to hide it, with one honey-yellow eye peeking out, staring at her from amid tufts of white and pale grey fur. Totally thrown, Shug staggered backward until she ran into the vanity; even then, her legs wanted to keep going, and eventually, she ended up on the floor.

The dog squeezed its eyes shut again. "_Nie rozumiem…_" it said. "_Nie mogę tego zrobić…_"

It went on for a bit, but the longer it spoke, the more Sugar realized that under the gruff overtone of the voice, it sounded familiar. _She_ sounded familiar. Standing again, Sugar approached the tub, standing next to it as the creature continued speaking in Polish.

"_Przepraszam… przepraszam…_"

"April?" Shug said.

Her clawed feet scratched against the bottom of the tub as she turned, looking back up at Sugar with those almost golden, tear-filled eyes. She was mostly human in form, except being covered in a thick coat of grey and white fur, and certain other wolf-like features. Long nose. Long ears. Sharp teeth. Like the Big Bad Wolf from fairy tales, except this one looked terrified.

Biting her lip, Sugar stepped into the tub, turned, and awkwardly sat down next to April. This was made more difficult by the fact that both of them were relatively tall, and, in her new form, April took up quite a bit of room. Still, after some time and a bit of shifting around, they sat relatively comfortably; Shug's legs hung over the side. "You okay?" she finally asked.

"How'd you know it was me?" April asked. Her voice was rough, as if she'd swallowed gravel. "I thought you'd… Well…"

"Oh…" Sugar said, rolling her eyes. "It's just that I don't know that many Eastern European werewolves."

When April looked confused, Sugar smiled. "You do realize you were talkin' to me in Polish, don't you?"

The creature April had become looked down at her hands. They were bigger now, and much less delicate; each was tipped with a sharp claw, which had already done a number on the bathtub's enamel. The slate-grey surface of each claw was covered with flaked-off red nail polish, which had obviously cracked apart the moment her well-manicured fingernails became veritable talons. "No, I didn't. I'm sorry."

"What're you sorry, for? You get a scare like this, you're bound to run back to something you're comfortable with. I know I did."

"You…?" April paused, a smile finally lighting on her canine face. "I suppose you would understand."

Shug leaned against April's shoulder. Amid the shreds of a torn nightgown, the soft fur there was almost like a pillow. "I tried to take everything of Mike's. Everything. Just 'cuz I knew it was mine." As she leaned there, she noticed that every few seconds, a tremor would wrack April's body. She remembered that feeling, too - absolute, untempered horror and fear. Something very few people would every truly understand the way they did. To lose oneself while the core of who you were remained dangling just out of your reach hurt more than physical pain. Carefully, Sugar took April's hand. "How long's this been goin' on?"

"Just … just today. I felt kind of weird since this morning. Excitable, I guess. A little sick to my stomach."

"So… Maybe not the popcorn, then."

"No. No, I don't think so."

They sat there again in silence, while Sugar just let April shiver for a while, as she held onto one paw-like hand. Eventually, the shaking became not-so-violent, and the dog-woman's breathing became much steadier. The furry head started to droop until it was resting atop Sugar's head, and for a moment, Shug was sure that April had fallen asleep.

"Shug, dear?"

"Mm-hm?" After the scare, Sugar almost felt like _she_ could fall asleep, right there in the bathtub.

"How did you know I wouldn't hurt you?"

April trembled again, her hand seizing up for just a second or two before it relaxed. Sugar held onto it a bit tighter; April currently seemed to be in a state of emotional shock, a feeling with which Shug was very well-acquainted. It seemed forever ago that her transformation from Michael Nesmith to Mary Nesmith occured, but one of the clearest thoughts in her memory centered around the first time she let herself cry.

It was much like April's reaction, only Sugar - stubborn and head-strong to the very core - took almost a full month to break. All day she was on edge. She had little fits of shaking and shivering and alternated between being too cold and too hot. Sometimes she was downright manic - inexplicably happy, or ruthlessly snappish. Unfortunately, with all she'd been through, plus the fact that she never before went through something so live-altering, she didn't see the signs until much later, when she buried her face in Peter's shoulder and cried for hours.

April wasn't quite there yet. Sugar could see it coming, though, and all she could do was hope to lighten the blow from April's realization of this new reality.

"It was in your eyes," Shug said. "I don't think you get warmth like that when you're dealin' with — " She paused, almost saying 'an animal' Quickly amending, she finished with "someone who's gonna hurt you." She shifted a bit, and April sat up, turning to look at her.

It occurred to Sugar that they'd need to _deal with this_ at some point. After all, it would be much harder for a six-foot dog to go walking around in public than it was for Sugar to go about as a girl. She winced a little at the thought as she studied her friend's altered face. A deceptively adorable salmon-pink nose sat just atop a mouth full of knife-sharp teeth, and yet, the eyes made the entire picture wholly nonthreatening.

They could think about that in a little while, though. Maybe in a couple hours. Perhaps in the morning. The last thing she wanted to do was remind April that her life had to change completely, falling away from everything she knew and understood.

"Look," Shug said, draping her arm around April's shoulders. "You coulda let me in a half hour ago, n' you woulda had that much less time you had to be all by your lonesome. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't know," April replied. "I thought… Well… You remember when you told me how you felt, when I first saw _you…?_"

Shug couldn't help a nostalgic smile at the memory. "Yeah, I was mortified. Wanted to go hide somewhere and never come out. Then you went n' put me in a dress."

April smiled. At least, Sugar thought that was a smile.

"Well, I'd be the last one to judge, you know," Sugar said. "You didn't have to hide."

April worked her paw out of Sugar's grip, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I… I was afraid you'd run away. Like I did when… When I found out about you."

The memory stung all over again, but the pain was faded and dull now, like an old ache that would never quite heal. Back when April was confronted with Sugar's origins, she fled, clearly appalled and offended… Until she had a chance to think about the entire situation. "I ain't about an eye for an eye," Shug said. "Besides, this is different. You… Well, you were worried about me thinkin' about you… uh… Well, you know what I'm sayin'." She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling her face turning pink. "In this case, I just found an overgrown wolf hangin' out in my best friend's bathtub. It's really not much of a comparison."

Dropping her hands from her face, April looked at the palms, frowning. "A wolf? Is that what I am?"

"Yeah, kinda. D'you want to see? I can help you up— "

"No!" April said quickly, the reply almost a sharp bark. She looked horrified at the very thought of seeing herself, eyes widening until Sugar could see the whites. The poor girl was truly afraid and completely beside herself, and for good reason.

"Okay, okay, we don't have to. Why don't we just sit here? C'mon, you just put your head back on my shoulder."

"I can't— I can't— _mój poduszkowiec jest pełen węgorzy_— "

"April, slow down, it's okay." Shug hugged the other girl close, maneuvering just enough so that she could wrap both arms around April, who continued to speak quietly in Polish. The trembling returned in earnest at the very thought of looking at herself. Perhaps the very idea of seeing her face in a mirror would somehow make what happened to her more _true._

Eventually, though, the shaking subsided, and the frantic one-sided dialogue ceased. Sugar said nothing else, instead opting just to _be._

—-

Awakened by the feeling of something digging into her hip, Sugar grunted, squished up her nose, and tried to stretch. Right about then, she remembered that she'd fallen asleep in the bathtub, and that there wasn't any room to stretch. Reaching under her, she retrieved the soap dish that was making it so uncomfortable, glared at it, and set it aside.

She already knew today would be difficult. Dealing with April's problem, given that her friend tended to become easily overwhelmed, would present an incredible challenge. Sitting up and stretching her neck to one side until it cracked - loudly - she turned her eyes to the other girl, who, at some point during the night, ended up lying across Sugar's stomach.

Eyes widening, Shug realized that April was back to normal. Disbelieving, she rubbed her eyes and looked again. Instead of the white-haired wolf-creature, though, was a blonde woman who slept fitfully, still shivering every once in a while as if cold, not frightened. April's night gown was in tatters, torn where her body stretched the fabric to its breaking point the night before. Some threads still stretched across bare skin, but it was hardly enough to adequately cover her.

Spotting a towel on a rack just across from the shower, Shug attempted to stretch her leg out to reach it, but with April lying across her, this only resulted in failure. When she tried to carefully move April so she could stand, her friend woke up, eyes blinking wide in renewed horror.

"Shh, it's okay," Sugar said quickly, stroking the frightened girl's hair. "You're back to yourself, see?" Reaching for one of April's hands, she held it in front of her eyes.

At that point, April relaxed so _powerfully_ that Sugar felt sure she'd relax right through the tub and down to the floorboards.

"Oh, I'm so tired," April groaned.

"S'cuz you've been shaking all night."

April tried to sit up for only a couple seconds, before realizing that she literally lacked the energy to do so. Giving up, she lay back on Sugar's stomach. "And I'm _freezing._"

…That would be a little bit more awkward to explain.

"Well, uh, I guess what happens when you…" Shug held out her hands in a representation of the word _large,_ but April seemed too out of it to understand. "Well, your clothes are a little… torn up."

Realization crossed April's face, and she again struggled to sit up, again with marginal success. As she frantically tried to decipher the puzzle of how to cover herself when she was essentially draped in scraps, she looked as if she were about to cry. Despite her pallor, her cheeks were reddening quite brightly. Sugar reached out to try to calm her, but April tried to push her arms away. Eventually, the only thing she could do to get her friend to _stop flailing_ was to wrap both her arms around her, holding her tightly. "April, it's okay. It's all right."

"No! You can't! You… You're…!"

Sugar knew it would be difficult for April to come to terms with certain things, like the fact that Sugar's taste in romantic partners had done a complete one-eighty over the past several months, and she no longer found April attractive at all in that way. Thinking about that was strange in and of itself, which meant she found it nearly impossible to explain it to other people.

Let alone a woman who'd just gotten the scare of a lifetime.

April stopped trying to cover herself, though Sugar couldn't be sure if it was because her burst of energy finally ran out, or if she decided to stop being self-conscious. With a sob, April turned, pressing her face into the dark hair that draped over Sugar's shoulder. "You're not supposed to see me like this!" she wailed.

"It ain't like that," Sugar said gently, still holding April close, rubbing her back. "I'm not Michael anymore, remember? You're _safe,_ April. You're safe and all right, 'n I just wanna help you."

She felt April nod, then one tired arm touched her back, shaky fingers gripping onto Sugar's shirt. "I'm sorry, Shug, I can't make it make sense!"

"I know," Sugar replied. "I know, it's okay. It'll take awhile to sort it out, but you can trust me." Taking April's shoulders, she leaned back, meeting eyes that were sunken and exhausted. "Will you trust me to help you?"

There was no hesitation before April nodded.

Offering an encouraging smile, Shug lay April back against the wall of the tub. "You just stay here. I'll be right back."

She stood, which was harder than she thought it would be. Being folded up in a bathtub for the last several hours certainly wasn't the best way to spend a night, and the aches and pains from doing so rapidly became painfully apparent. Grunting as she stretched, she stepped over the side of the tub, and almost tripped, because her legs were too damn long.

On the bright side, she stumbled almost directly into the towel rack, which was where she intended to go in the first place. Acting as if she meant to do that, she looked over her shoulder, only to see that April's eyes were closed, and she hadn't seen the entire display of Sugar's lack of coordination, anyway. As her feet woke up and the pins-and-needles feeling faded from her legs, Sugar retrieved the towel and draped it over April, so she'd feel a little more comfortable.

With some awkwardness, Sugar stepped one leg into the tub, working her arms under April's knees and behind her shoulders. One thing she happily retained from being Michael was her strength, and while she was still sore, she was still able to carefully extract April from the tub, then carry her out into her bedroom.

"Okay, I'm just gonna sit you up right here…" Gently placing April on the edge of her bed, Sugar gave her a little shake, and her eyes blearily opened again. Making sure the towel was in place, she added, "Try to sit up just a little while longer, okay? We'll get you changed and then you can sleep."

April's head bobbed in what may have been a nod.

"Okay. Okay, good," Shug said. Before April could pass out again, the black-haired girl hurried over to April's dresser. Usually not one for prying into other peoples' things, Shug nevertheless threw open the drawers until she found another night gown. Muttering a pleased "ah-ha," she turned, only to find April slowly slumping forward, toward the floor.

"Ahh! April!" she exclaimed, bounding forward, and only _just_ managing to catch her friend's shoulders before she face-planted directly into the carpet.

"Hnh— I'm awake, dear," she replied.

Sighing, Sugar turned April sideways on the bed, so if she fell forward, back, or to the right, she'd at least land on something soft. If she fell to the left, Shug could probably catch her in time. Hopefully.

Standing just a step back, she started talking as she meticulously disentangled the ripped clothing from April's arms. "You remember when we first met?" she asked. "You had all those dresses, and I didn't have any clue what to do with myself. I mean, how was I supposed to know how girls dressed, huh?"

She could feel a silent chuckle. "Heavens. I can't believe I didn't realize it _then,_" April said. "A girl who'd never worn a dress."

"Yeah, well," Shug replied, smiling. Rather than try to save any part of the torn gown, since it was ruined anyway, she started tearing the strips away, letting them drop to the floor. "I'm glad y'didn't. We probably wouldn'ta become friends if you knew who I was. Not like this, anyway." After working enough of the cloth off, she slipped the new gown over April's head. With that done, the blonde's shoulders relaxed a little. "Just think of this as repaying the favor. Can you lift your arms?"

April took a deep breath, and managed to put her arms up just enough so that Sugar could work them into her sleeves. Pulling one corner of the blanket back, she said, "Now lay yourself down."

And April did. Gladly.

A couple scraps of fabric still remained, and Shug pulled them down from April's legs, adding them to the pile on the floor. The only thing left to do was pull the blanket over the exhausted girl. By the time Sugar did that, April was already snoring.

—-

Sometime around eight or nine that morning, Sugar called Michael and told him that she and April would be hanging out today, too. Of course, she didn't mention the whole _giant dog_ thing, since she didn't want to worry anyone just yet. Besides, maybe April didn't want anyone to know, least of all Micky, who probably would have rushed right over. Her brother mentioned that he and the others would probably be staying in most of the day, too, since Micky apparently spent most of the night out, and was now sleeping it off.

That done, Sugar set up camp on the floor at the foot of April's bed, and stared at the TV. Fairly worn out herself, she allowed her eyes to close, and soon, she found herself dozing. Whatever played on TV interfered with her dreams, making her see visions of shouting politicians and old, abandoned warehouses with scary, poorly-lit corners. And then something was tapping on her shoulder, and all she could think was that the giant grasshoppers from the afternoon movie had found her at last…

"Sugar…? Shug, dear!?"

Grasshoppers didn't talk!

Her eyes blinked open, and she turned to find April lying on her stomach, leaning over the edge of the bed. "I think you were dreaming. You kept swatting at my hand!"

Shug took a deep breath. "Yeah, just… nightmares. Giant bugs." She looked at the TV, watching as the Air Force attempted to shoot the grasshoppers right out of the sky. "Probably shoulda turned the TV off before I passed out."

"Did you stay here all day?" April asked, sliding off the bed and onto the floor. Sitting next to Sugar, she met her friend's eyes, and Sugar thought that April really did still look exhausted.

"Aw, well, I didn't think you'd wanna wake up all alone," she replied. "I mean, what would you think if I just up and left?" Rubbing her eyes, she asked, "What time is it, anyway?"

"I don't know exactly. The sky's starting to get dark, though."

Still trying to shake the last vestiges of sleep off, Sugar asked, "You feel any better?"

"Oh, a little," April muttered. "I'm still trying to figure out if I imagined the whole thing, or if it really happened. And if it really happened…"

"Then what caused it," Shug supplied. "Well, I'm pretty sure _something_ happened. I know what I saw. I _think._"

April looked at her hands, scowling, and Sugar quickly put an arm around her shoulders. "It ain't so bad, though. Hell, I'm sure it coulda been worse. You … You could be… You could be _stuck_ that way."

For a while, neither of them said anything. The implications were clear, the meaning all-too-real. Eventually, April asked, "Is that how you feel? Stuck?"

"Not anymore," Sugar said, smiling. She, too, looked down at her hands, flipping them over. They seemed like _hers_ now, not someone else's. "It's amazin' what you can get used to, with enough time, and the inclination. But I did when it first happened. If it weren't for you, I don't think I coulda gone on. You and Peter."

April chuckled, leaning against her friend's shoulder. "I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here last night."

"Really?" Shug asked, incredulous. "You woulda probably picked yourself up out of the tub without worryin' about anyone seeing you, for starters."

"I think I'd still be there."

"Hmm."

Sugar leaned back against the bed, allowing her eyes to close again. Now that she knew April was okay, she felt as if the desire to get a good rest would outweigh any desire she had to do anything productive. Even if she hadn't been shaking like a leaf the night before, she still never really slept. "I called Mike this morning and told him we'd be goin' to a movie and stuff, so he didn't worry. He said the funniest thing after that, though. Said that Micky'd been out all night."

"Odd. Micky usually likes to laze around in the evening."

Sugar chuckled. "I know. Sometimes it's hard gettin' him to a gig…" Trailing off, she opened her eyes again, looking at April. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"You don't suppose…?"

"It's too much of a coincidence, I'd say," Sugar muttered, lying one hand on her own cheek in thought. "I think it's worth some investigating. You up for a drive?"

—-

They all stood around Micky's bed.

"So explain this again?" Peter asked, as he eyed the bed's snoring occupant.

"Please don't, Pete," Sugar said. "April didn't wanna tell anyone in the first place. It was only 'cuz I think we're solvin' somethin' here…"

"It's okay," April said. She smiled, leaning down next to Micky and running her fingers through his hair. "Like you said, it could have been worse. Micky, darling?"

Micky stirred, his eyes squeezing more tightly closed as he sensed the light. Grunting, he flipped over, skillfully burying his head under his pillow at the same time.

Mike grabbed the pillow and tossed it across the room. "C'mon, Mick. Open your eyes, this is important!"

"I tol' ya," Micky muttered, "I was out all night! I don't— Oh, hey, April." As he opened his eyes and saw his girlfriend, he yawned, offering a lazy, tired smirk. Then, the smirk faded. "Uh, by 'out all night,' I really, honestly mean I was by myself. That's the truth. Just in case you're getting the wrong idea." Under his breath, he added, "I don't think anyone woulda wanted to hang out with me last night, anyway."

Shug crossed her arms. "Well, at least I know who's been drinkin' from the toilet and chewin' up my slippers. Bad dog."

…Under the circumstances, it was the best possible way for her to broach the subject. Even so, Micky looked at her with a mix of confusion and surprise, as Davy giggled. "How— How'd you know?"

"You didn't happen to bite April at any point, did you?" Sugar asked. She couldn't help the irritation. Micky's irresponsibility had led to one of her very best friends suffering the same curse.

Sitting up, Micky rubbed the back of his head. "Well, some biting may have occurred in the… process."

Davy snickered again as April covered her face. Sugar muttered, "Too much information, Mick…"

"But…" He eyed April, frowning guiltily. "But it probably wasn't the biting, so much as the s— "

"_Okay,_ enough of that, then," Mike shouted, cutting off whatever Micky intended to say.

Almost awed, Peter asked, "How come you didn't tell us you were a werewolf?"

"Were_dog,_ actually," Micky said. He smile became sheepish. "I think— Well, you know that chemistry kit you gave me for Christmas that one year? Pretty sure I mighta got some of Missus Wiefer's husky's hair in one of my concoctions. Did I ever tell you it's a really bad idea to _drink_ what you make with that thing? Especially when your cleaning lady leaves more dust around than she removes."

"Still doesn't explain why you didn't tell us," Davy said.

Briefly, Micky met eyes with Sugar, then said, "I didn't think you guys would understand. I thought you'd be scared." He paused, then said, "April, I'm really sorry."

She sat next to him on the bed, going back to playing with his hair.

"Well, it's pretty impressive that you managed to keep it from us _that long,_" Mike said. "Usually, you can't keep your mouth shut."

"I'm kinda glad you guys figured it out, though," Micky said. He wrapped his arms around April, holding her close, like a teddy bear. "It means I don't have to worry about you guys finding out anymore. And I don't have to go hide on the roof when it happens."

"The roof?" Davy asked.

"Well, you don't think I went strolling around in public when I changed, do you?" Letting go of April, he took her hand, instead. "It's not too bad, anyway. A couple times a month, maybe three. It's pretty random, though. I can't figure out a pattern. The only good thing is that the whole day before, you'll feel kinda anxious and sick. At least there's warning."

April frowned, remaining silent. Micky sighed. "I honestly didn't think I could pass it on to anyone else. I swear, if I knew, I would have told you." Reaching up, he pushed her hair out of her eyes, and attempted a smile. "But you know? I bet you're beautiful even with a wet nose."

April allowed a tiny smile. Sugar just rolled her eyes.

—-

About a week and a half later, Micky complained that he didn't feel so well. Sugar called April up, only to discover that the same was true for her. At least she and Micky would be on the same schedule.

As Shug drove the Monkeemobile over to April's house, she couldn't help thinking of the many nights Micky spent out on the roof, alone, scared, and tired. Oddly, despite the fact that they were all much like a family, there were many things that Micky kept from them, as if he didn't trust them completely. He could have, though. Of all people, Sugar would have been the least likely to judge.

She pulled into April's driveway, and the other girl hopped into the car, carrying a backpack, which probably contained the change of clothes Shug reminded her to bring. Instead of her usual form-fitting attire, April wore a loose t-shirt and an old pair of shorts. Practical, and less-likely to tear.

"You nervous?" Sugar asked, backing out of the driveway.

"A little. I don't think it'll be so bad this time." She huddled in the passenger seat, arms around her stomach. Her perfectly-manicured nails tapped against her arms in an irregular rhythm, making her fear obvious.

The drive didn't take too long. After all, April only lived a mile or so away. The closer they got, though, the more April seemed to relax. Maybe it was the knowledge that she wouldn't have to face this all by herself. In that regard, Shug did feel just a little jealous; when she'd changed - completely splitting from Mike to become her own person - she had no one with which to commiserate. And while she had a good support network, no one else had any idea what she was going through. Not even her brother, Mike, who was closest to the situation.

Micky was there to greet them when they arrived. To Sugar, it almost seemed like a modern re-telling of Beauty and the beast, except they were both simultaneously beautiful _and_ beastly. Yes, Sugar had come to recognize the fact that, despite his weirdness, Micky did have a sort of handsome quality to him. Sometimes, she found this revelation deeply disturbing.

He took April's hand, leading her inside.

Sugar leaned against the Monkeemobile, running her fingers through her hair. A few minutes later, Mike stepped outside, hands in his pockets, and sauntered over, leaning next to her. "Kinda draws a few parallels, huh?" he asked.

"Oh, mostly I'm just thinkin' about how it always ends up bein' Micky's fault," she replied, although she couldn't be _too_ angry.

"Mm-hm. He means well," Mike said.

"When he sets the house on fire one day, I dare you do say that again."

"Ain't like he meant for all this to happen. Besides. From what he was sayin', he did this to himself long before _you_ came into being. I think he's learned his lesson. I _hope_ he has." Sighing, Mike looked at the door. "A year he's been livin' like this."

"You find it strange?" Sugar began. "He's a werewolf, and the best we can all do is sigh and say, 'oh, that's just how things are'? and, 'That's just Micky for ya'?"

Mike chuckled. "After what we've been through, I'm starting to expect strange stuff to follow us around. I think we're cursed, baby sister."

"Been thinkin' the same thing."

"Wonder why that is."

Sugar elbowed him, smirking. "Probably 'cuz for some odd reason, we think the same way."

"Some odd reason." He rolled his eyes. "Micky says he plans to sit with her out on the balcony tonight, instead of the roof. He actually seems kind of excited about the whole thing. Not hidin' anymore, I mean."

Unable to help it, Sugar started chuckling. After a moment, the chuckle turned into laughter so powerful, that she doubled over and eased herself to the ground. The very thought—

"What the hell's got into you?" Mike asked.

And through her laughter, the only thing she could squeak out was, "Puppy love!"

Mike, done, waved one hand and retreated back to the house.


End file.
